A Letter to Florida … And Titusville: Ruminations from High School, Weird Stuff, and a Movie Review

Dear Titusville, Florida, 327 whatever,
I’m writing an official goodbye letter, saying that I will no longer set foot in this town. You will ultimately have to deal with me not being there, and all because of two words: high school. Those words turned into two more words: bad memories. Too many bad memories plague my high school hours, and band and chorus were almost stripped from me. I will have been a fallen star because of two people: Jason Lawrence and Orien Henry. Here’s what I’m talking about:
I was born in the west coast, across the hall from you, and in a big old hospital, and born blind. Why should anyone be surprised that I’m able to write this stupid letter? You thought I’d never make it, but I sure as heck did. You thought I couldn’t get a job, but I’ve got something better. I have a real family, blind and disabled individuals who understand what’s going on. And the surprises are just getting started: my dad is ultimately thinking about paying for the forensic evaluation that I’m finally able to wrench out of a Denver clinic. Why Denver, you ask? Well, there are a zillion reasons why I am not coming back to Titusville, except on visits and occasions like births and so on. Well, not even that, but I won’t sneak in. I will never ever see this old worn down town again for a few reasons: transportation being the top reason. There are no eligible bachelors in Titusville willing to marry scum, or what they view as scum, and that is but two words Beth Taurasi. I’m not scum, and I’ve had to think that I’m not for years. It’s taken years to recover from this horrific stupid cycle of rejection, rejection, rejection. I have never had a love in my life till I met Blake. It was inconceivable at first, me being with Blake and all. Blake is sweet, just too sweet for words to describe. There is no word in the dictionary that would describe his tenacity, support, his will to live and all that. Blake is a fighter, not just on the tae kwon do floor, but all the time in any way you can think of. He fights for his life, access to websites, access through his Internet provider. They are a dinky little piece of paper called, … Speed Connect. I guess they finally caught on to Net Neutrality, and they unblocked Blake’s access to Bear Ware or whatever that site is that does Team Talk. My readers who are on Team Talk know that site well. Guess even the firewalls in Speed Whatever your names are just didn’t block it now. Let’s just hope that they don’t block any more sites that Blake visits frequently. After all, just because “Well, we don’t like the IP or the site” doesn’t mean you have every right to tell Blake and his dear mom that they can’t access the site because you have such a weird opinion about it.
By the same token, you, Titusville, Brevard County, and Florida, are all responsible for ruining and allowing other people to ruin my life. You have allowed others to manipulate and overexaggerate abuse, neglect, emotional unsupportive ways, and so on. I now have a negative balance in my bank account. My dad says I should watch my money, but guess what? I need to make sure the food is in the fridge, and I get it done, whether it’s me or someone else. Ugh.
You really don’t get it, do you? Do all Brevard County residents have to be so inconsistent in their message? Oh, let’s primp up the Down’s Syndrome and exceptional kids in class, then treat them like scum the next day. No Down’s child has ever been a THS homecoming king or queen. Wanna know why? Because this stupid and discriminatory state and county do not think. I’ve seen special needs kids get homecoming spots and people really love them. There are more accepting parts of this country than Titusville, and that reminds me. I watched a really good old teen chick flick. A Cinderella Story. Sam Montgomery is a girl who works at a diner, and then her dad dies and the evil stepmom who turns out criminal and totally bewitched and all decides to make Sam stay home from college and make her dreams go … yeah, out the door. My dreams came out the door when I turned 14, not 24 like in Bowling for Soup. I hate to say this, but Titusville doesn’t deserve to be home of a great singer. I gave many hours of singing to this stupid little weird town, but what did I get back? Oh yes, I got a ruined life, and now I can’t deal. I want to try the worship team at church, but I guess nobody has room and they won’t make room. Can’t they be a little more considerate? Am I just a care object? No. I’m honestly not a care object. I want activities in my life besides that darned DVR work adjustment which, thank goodness, may come to a graceful end. Nothing bad about that. I mean, the boss was blind, but sadly, not that he’s blind, but he has a sighted brother. The brothers who work the company are great, and it was nice trying to help the Boss out. But the thing is I will not be worked like a slave. Not anymore. I expect to be paid, SSI or otherwise, for work that I put into hours and hours for. I mean, I want to introduce you Titusville Terriers out there to Chris G., a guy who is really cool and is really good at computers and stuff. He’s smart by charging for tech support, and he absolutely means what he says. He wrote this Facebook status which said, “I will charge x number of dollars per y hours.” And he sets the record straight. Chris, you might be reading this, but I applaud you for not letting the slave masters, the poor and weird blind community, work you to death. I can’t possibly pay you myself, but payment for you is the only way you can save up for your dreams. Honestly, I’m going to charge a million dollars total for the damages caused by Brevard County and my family and all the people involved and the manipulation, the somehow misguided “help” that the guardianship provided. Manipulating my poor father and mother into believing I was a monster, and saying, “I’ll cover your butt by giving Beth no position to marry anybody.” Really. I know exactly who to turn the attention to next.
X., my VI teacher, let’s say she is called X. X is your best friend, but X is the place that marks every spot, so X is the lady’s name. X was the one who wrote my name in a comment to a complete stranger, and said, “She’s chasing after boys.’ Shut up! I have the best friend, who is male, in the whole world. I’ve become a passionate defender of disabled people’s rights, and you can see this in my blog posts. To X, I’m sorry if you think this is disrespectful, but how could you be so cruel after so many years of raising me? Practically raising me like a mother yourself would do to a child, you have betrayed me! Blake would never do this, not even once. He cares about me, and he can’t stand to see me cry. I found the diamond I have been hunting for in the sand, and you know what? That diamond is not made of stone. It’s made of smiles, laughs, kisses, and a lot of love. Blake is my diamond in the rough, and I won’t let go. To say that he’s nothing more than obsession is appalling to me. What will I do now without you there to talk about the cool new stuff on Amazon? What will we do without you to support every birth, death, birthday party, and so on? Blake and I need to have some sort of support network, but it won’t be you, sadly, X. You’ve marked the spot so cleverly in my whole life, and you have little choice but to leave those big shoes at the door. I’m not even kidding. Blake has better shoes that fit better at all. It’s not the thing that bothers me the most, though. X, what bothers me the most is that you were not able to support, not neglect, me in high school. You allowed a person to hit me, too many boys to reject me like scum on the floor, and that Jason and Orien stuff? Really. I’m really mad that Jason and Orien didn’t take a look behind the blackened curtains. Dumb asses they both were, and Jason moved to San Francisco. I say, fine, you left your heart in San Francisco. I’m going to take a cable car around the city and find that little love bug and swish my swatter at it. The love bugs in Florida? I don’t miss them at all.
Oh, and here’s another person I want to turn my attention to: Orien Henry.
This may sound funny, but since you’re not on social media, I’m going to talk once and for all about what you should have done:
1. Why didn’t you just ask me out?
2. No prom night? Why?
3. I’m not unhappy with my current love, but Orien, I’m glad you didn’t even try to marry me. Why? Here’s why: you are a total loss of a man. You don’t know what you’re missing. Blake has found his diamond in the sand. I suppose he found his little princess. And yes, I’m sorry, Blake has me for a reason. We started out as friends, and I wanted to keep my distance from a romantic thing, but Blake loves me. HE hugged me in my old apartment once, and that was it I guess. He had a feeling I needed a hug. Blake has been there since, and he loves me like a sunshine or the rays of that sunshine loves the roses in the garden. With those kisses, that little seed in the dirt became a rose. I am the rose. Remember the old song?
With that done, I now turn my attention to my parents, though I can’t write anything. Well, just kidding. I will not turn my attention to them. Let’s just say I always have a spot for society.
First off, society is a total … bitch. Yes, a little bitch, and it doesn’t deal with the blind well. How many times has a blind person in any part of the world been bullied, abused, not allowed to do this or that because they are blind? What about the perception of blind equals diseased? Oh yes, that’s awful. In order to win me over, sicko society, you must change the way you view us. Stop calling anyone a snob because they think the blind world is best. Look, you sighted societal weirdos can get info with the blink of an eye. Blink. There’s your book. Blink, and there’s your stupid wedding dress, your tux, your jeans for school. Blink, there’s the pair of glasses you lost. And … yes, blink and look, there’s the eyes of a man or woman you love, and they blink back. Blink, blink, blink. Well, I’d like everybody to close and seal their eyes for a few days. Let’s take a challenge question: how would you like it if you had to touch your significant other? What about exploring that person’s body instead of looking? Do you want to get to know the person you love so much that you could eat them up? Do it without your blinking flashlights, ok? Oh, and try the blue Eyed exercise that the social work classes have us do in college. It was done by a white social worker in the South who wanted to demonstrate how oppression works, and then she says, “Imagine this kind of bad treatment happening to you every day.” Imagine if the tables turned on everybody, and light dependent weirdos were the minority. Imagine if too many people were crippled or unable to walk, no offense, and too many others were deaf, mute, etc. What if perfect bodies were not the norm? What would we do with this world? Imagine you couldn’t hear your lover’s voice singing to you in bed. Imagine you couldn’t even smell the roses, or walk the aisle. Imagine, imagine, all the impossibilities, and think of positive ways you could alleviate or ameliorate that pain of not being able to, right, Mr. Owens? Ameliorate: definition: to alleviate. Ok, that’s a good synonym for ameliorate. Well, the movie I watched was cool. But I must be going to bed.
Goodbye, Florida, your bugs of all weird shapes and sizes must go.
And most of all, goodbye, all the letters I wrote to Jason, and goodbye to the life I lost in Florida because of all the trashing comments people might have said.
I want to say I only have one friend, one person who was willing to help with stuff. I want to say that Ben Gaddis was the one and only man or woman from that darned town willing to help. Sorry, but I’m leaving the town behind for good.
Bye bye, St. T’s, and all the weirdness within.
Also, goodbye to Orien, goodbye to all the love bugs, the Fort Christmas field trip, whatever. Bye.
I’m not going to say see you later to an alligator. I will say, “After awhile will I ever see the crocodiles.”

Letter to Indiana’s Governor

Dear Gov. Pence
What gives you the license to allow others to be bigots and all that? You signed a law that now allows people to uphold an old law about being gay or lesbian. I have friends who will now boycott your gruesome law. They’re not getting married in Indiana. I will see to it myself that the state is deserted because you put bigotry here. I guess you are trying to get around the Gay Marriage laws that allow gays to marry by just choking it out like a weed. Well, you can’t. Imagine if your law was used to discriminate against people with disabilities. Like me and my bf Blake. We want to marry, for example, and we call a baker in Indiana or any state that has such a stupid law. “Oh, we don’t serve the blind or disabled. You people are broken.” “Why? You can’t deny us services. We’re just straight as arrows.” “Yes, but you’re disabled, and we don’t like disabled people.” See what you did? Honestly, bigotry and sports do not belong in the same plane. So guess what I’m doing, I’m demanding that you put executive actions in place that state that this law is a mistake. You made a mistake, and yes, you are a human being, but this is an intentional mistake. You are treating us, Blake and me for instance, and gay people, black people, etc. like we’re all mistakes. Guess what? God doesn’t make junk. Hear me out. I am blind, and I have some mental issues. Nurses viewed me as a broken person, and I heard a nurse say that two sick people don’t make a well product. This is a really old school view. If two people with mental illness want to get married, let it be. Two gay people should be awarded the same rights. Blind people like Blake and myself will not be denied services, so guess what that means? We will be denied services by a minister for a wedding, denied services in a hospital for a baby’s birth, denied services for children’s birthday parties. If Colorado gov. Hickenlooper had the gaul to do this, he’d be off my good list. Well, Gov. Pence, you’re definitely not in my good books right now. Please get rid of this law or we will be having a lot of business leave your state. Bigotry has a cost. Wanna be a bigot? Well, then, you will pay dearly for being this bad.
Beth Taurasi
Denver, Colorado

Book Review: Faith at Work, With Kids at Home, and Forced Marriage

Dear Readers,
I haven’t posted in a while as my life’s swamped in many places. I was able to read a great book called Betrayed. It’s written by a British foster mother, Rosie Lewis, single mom of two. She has a sixteen-year-old daughter and a 13-year-old son. This woman was sweet and took in Zadie, 13, a Muslim girl who turned out to hide an awful secret. As expected, the secret will take the reader on a wild roller coaster ride, and I will say one thing about the ending of this book: it is absolutely amazing. The British foster system by far seems to try and accommodate many people, including the Muslim population, but there’s something that bothered me about the family in the book that was featured.
Rosie had to work with Zadie’s dad, and you bet the dad had issues with girls having options in their lives. This is a common problem with girls in Muslim families. Now, I was a convert to Islam at some point, but had to leave because of the discouragement from practicing it. It was obvious when my dressing was noticed by blind and sighted people. I could not buy the right clothes anywhere, and sadly, a headscarf with “I’m a freak” written all over it was present at a psychological evaluation. Some guy named Dr. Benson invalidated my religion at the time, saying I was “pretending to be Arab.” Well, I am not pretending anything. What is this! For one, this statement is an opinion, and it should have been written in the following manner: “She identifies as Muslim and bears the headscarf.” There is no excuse for telling me that Islam is bad. It is not all bad. There are child marriages in most other places too, not just Islamic countries. Look at the Hispanic poor Catholic women and girls who are forced or cannot date, so they can’t just wait. There are Hispanic girls, Hindu girls, and other girls who marry at young ages.
Betrayed gives you a viewpoint that almost nobody would understand if they’d been brainwashed the way Zadie had almost been. Zadie’s dad is serious when he barks at her, and with the narration being so perfect it captures the reality of the situation, one can’t help but not put Betrayed on the shelf, the virtual shelf that is. When I finished reading, I asked myself, “Why did you leave Islam?” Well, here are my reasons:
1. The social consequences were so profound, and my family was really littered with bad words to say about Islam, and they did not want to care about what Jesus had done and said as written in all three Holy books, whatever.
2. Wearing the veil was stupid and made a doctor make me look like a total fool.
3. This is the most important. Forced marriage and FGM are common practice in Somalia. My boyfriend at the time was indeed Somali, and while I have no bad things to say about him, there’s always that risk. What if an old aunt says that my half-Somali daughter must be circumcised in order to find a husband? I have two or maybe one word for this: bullshit. What if that same daughter was watched like a bird in a cage by Deq or other family members, even if Deq didn’t like this practice? Would she face honor killing as a result of not marrying the ones her grand uncle or father wanted? What if she has to marry a Hajji who has three senior wives? My daughter has rights, but about 70% of the time in abusive families, those rights are not acknowledged. A good example of a strong Muslim woman I know is Elizabeth. She has a son and a daughter and a grandson. Her son is really great, and he has a lot of Qur’anic knowledge and goes to a Muslim school. While this is good for some, I don’t know perhaps if the boy will respect women. Will the young man end up committing something atrocious? We recently heard Isis was planning and posted a hit list of American service members’ pics, names, and addresses and location info. This is stupid. What if I was on such a hit list for leaving? I hope not.
The daughter, Elizabeth tells me, married a non Muslim. This guy treats her better than most of the brothers in the community, so Elizabeth approves. She loves both her kids, and her grandson, the grandson she has by her daughter and the husband, is a really sweet little guy. He’s about six I think, maybe four or five. I miss her. Elizabeth knows that Blake is good for me, but even if I was Muslim, I could never marry any of the brothers. Reason? The brothers aren’t my type. I don’t have any courage to let some stranger have sex with me. Obviously, I won’t be having a baby by some stranger, and what if that stranger thinks I should not leave the home? That is a problem, and I don’t leave as it is, and I don’t have a real job. But the potential husbands I would have faced would have been discouraging of me to marry Deq or any blind man in my life. Their reasons were that we could not take care of ourselves and each other as blind people. Once again, ignorance has permeated any ounce of the brothers’ ability to really look in to the faith they practice. Yes, Islam was not the main reason I left. The abuses associated with it, the psychological consequences, the doctors, all that were good reasons to have to go. Of course, I want to sell different things I had. But I still keep the rug so that if Deq wants to drop in and take my floor to pray on, he can do so. See? I am accommodating in that sort of way. But a Muslim woman does not need to acknowledge that only half of the inheritance goes to her. Elizabeth is a single convert mom, and she will ultimately be the one in charge of her son’s stuff until he turns eighteen. Period. The boy will marry the person he wants, and as long as Elizabeth approves. My hope is that the young man does not marry someone who is prone to break down too much. Honestly, Blake is someone who stands by me all the time. HE has waved pom poms and cheered me on, metaphorically. Anyhow, the real true reason I had to go was the guardianship’s impact on relationships. Deq could not get a real marriage going with me, and we could not do things together. After Jason, I just about broke down and tried the local dating scene, but God must’ve said, “No, Blake has been waiting for you.” Now, Blake is here, and he is the mortal I trust with all my life. I wouldn’t trust anyone else, and that’s a fact. I can’t learn to trust some guy that I just met, and just because some religious community asks me to marry him.
Another concern that I have is my new found faith in God is being tested at work. The boss is telling me that I can’t strike up a Godly conversation at work, and says it’s inappropriate for that reason, that it’s inappropriate and that it’s offensive to nonreligious peoples. Well, I bet that L., a guy in my club who’s Jewish, wouldn’t care less. I can relate to Jews, Muslims, and Christians, all because of Abrahamic descent. That’s what I see. The Jews have their Passover coming around the corner, and my church is going to have a real good seder meal, so yeah. It’s not exactly the worst thing in the world to do a seder at a Christian church.
My hope is that DVR will shut up and realize that I am a faithful woman to God, and I won’t be tested too harshly to the point of death. Christ did that already, and I won’t die alone. There was a lady in Sudan, Miriam Ibrahim, a lady with two kids by a Christian guy, who was going to be hanged in Sudan for being Christian at all. She got safe passage thank God because someone signed a bunch of petitions, and the UN and I guess other organizations cried out, “Justice!” Well, Miriam is fine, and her husband, Daniel and kids, are all doing good. I guess Sudan is just bad. Their forced Islam is not a real religious practice, and if I talk Jesus in front of someone there, I could die. Honestly, I won’t attend job club if this continues. I’m not sure if I should go to my work group at all because this is all about how to get wealthy, a fleshly requirement that my parents could impose on the potential of Beth and Blake.
My friends, please pray for us. I’m considering what God is telling me and I’ll have to wait for what they say at work tomorrow. I plan to wear a Crucifix necklace I got at a flea market sale. It was an old flea market sale in Winter Park in Florida and I was at some rehabilitation place. I bought the necklace because it seemed fine as a charm. I loved the beads, and it had been custom made. Blake has a cross talisman he got from his dear grandma. I have had a cross before, but this one that I plan to wear has Jesus nailed to it in a beautiful engraving. Let’s see if anyone says anything.
Well, thank you all for supporting the Denverqueen Blog of Weirdness. …

Made a few changes, but here it is, another post

Hello, everyone. I would like to tell everyone that I just made a few settings change. But the WordPress for Android update has a few broken buttons. So, to the developers of androids WordPress, keep it accessible and don’t break it, you will need to work on this.

Posted from WordPress for Android

A Problem Surrounding the Disabled Female Community

Dear Readers,
It has come to my attention, and this really bugs me, that a lot of disabled females around the world, not just here in the U.S., are sexually mistreated in one way or another. Whether denied sex or given the wrong type of sex, females with disabilities are often not cared for and about in the state home system, not allowed to marry, or sterilized because a man may view her as asexual. Well, I’ve got bad news for you punks out there who think it wise to give women the butt end of the bread loaves. Women, no matter what disabilities we have, are sexual beings with rights. We have rights to not have sex or have sex depending on what we’re doing at the stage of life we’re in. About 60% of disabled females are likely to be raped as teenagers this year. When I talk to at least ten females, about eight of them will say they have been raped or sheltered as teenagers. If you’re disabled and female, you are more likely to suffer consequences for a guy’s actions. This includes but is not limited to unwanted pregnancy, which did happen to a young woman in training at CCB who had been impregnated before. Her name has not been given for privacy reasons. I’ve spoken to others who’ve told stories of brutal assault, rape, and simply being taken advantage of. Blind men and sighted men alike must learn that females with disabilities are not asexual beings. We’re just like other women, and we don’t like rape and sexual assault.
Here’s a remedy I would probably put out there: a comprehensive sex ed class for all middle schoolers, boys and girls, that includes stuff about disabled females being sexual beings. For disabled females and exceptional education students who are female, I’d include the anatomy parts, right? But then we have to sit down and do a few scenarios. What do you do when an older man approaches you and puts you on his lap in uncomfortable positions? Well, that’s the rhetorical question that leads me to think about something else. When a man loves a woman, what does he do? Well, sex isn’t always the answer.
Take me and Phillip Haynes, an ex boyfriend of mine who was really sweet. We didn’t have sex. We never did. In fact, since he was so young, I didn’t want him to have sex with me. I wasn’t in the mood to have a baby in Florida, where the backwoods laws would apply to my baby’s bond with me, invalid. Phillip was a sweetheart, but a bit under the bridge with his understanding of blindness. I still think of Phillip, but only as a friend. We kissed, but even after we broke up, it was like, um, he still wanted me back. But face this: I’m not going to marry Phillip. He’s simply too damn young and not able to understand blindness as much as I do. He’s never lived blind, he never took buses, never used a cane. I would prefer someone who could and did and will do so for life. In other words, I want someone blind. As a blind female, I’ve had to watch the actions of other girls and boys in school. In general public school, I’ve had to be single a lot, never got my sixteen year old first kiss thing at all, and never went to senior prom. While this went on, I had a love for several men in school, but those loves were not allowed to grow. My parents and brothers never thought that their sister and daughter was capable of falling in love, and being a sexual being with a human mind and thought pattern. About 90% of blind children in families with sighted parents and siblings are sheltered, and because of this, risks go up dramatically. I know this because I’ve spoken to other women and girls with disabilities.
One of my friends, C., had a particularly brutal case of rape and assault at the age where she should have been in the junior prom and … yes, maybe given a better handle on training with a guy. C.’s case is something that repeats itself though with J., another girl who was raped at thirteen. While there are even sighted girls who get this at thirteen, rape is preventable and should never happen. It is not beautiful if a child pops out. Rape is rape. Period.
In J.’s case, she didn’t know the boy who did it, and the police would not be able to believe J. or C. because they are both totally or partially blind or visually impaired. While there is no intellectual disabilities going on, J. and C.’s cases demonstrate that we need to be nicer to females with disabilities.
Let’s begin the process now. What can we do to solve this problem? Easier said than done, but I could write a whole book about why we need to take better care of females with disabilities, and it starts at birth.
Imagine a girl who is blind, let’s call her Jane Doh, born in 1980 or earlier. Miss Doh was born in a family where sex isn’t talked about until she is about eight. When she is born totally blind, her parents do most of the right stuff, including enroll her in school to learn Braille, but they fail in a highly important subject. Jane goes to school and learns Braille, but not streetsmarts. The teacher may say to the parents, “She’s not going to have children.” Now, let’s fastforward Jane’s birth to about 2000. She’s a millennial baby, but that seems to make no difference. Total blindness and Braille skills are emphasized, but again, streetsmarts aren’t. Let’s imagine Jane going on a little outing with a friend on a sunny day in Florida or Colorado. Let’s picture her on an empty and quiet street walking home with a friend, and they’re going to sleep at the friend’s house. The friend doesn’t know this, but a weirdo guy, let’s call him Bob Doh, is looking at Jane in the most heinous way. He walks up to Jane and says, “Hey.” That simple Hey could lead to the next thing, which could be an unwanted abduction. Bob grabs Jane, pulls her pants or skirt down, and … yeah. Without training because of parental restrictions on funds, Jane could risk an unwanted pregnancy no matter what she does. At fifteen or thirty, Jane is still fertile and can be pregnant depending on the conditions she is born with associated with disability. Some blind women do have hormonal imbalances which permeate their lives, but let’s omit those with our Jane.
Jane’s rape could have been prevented with the following scenarios: her parents could have given her martial artist training. Now, we all know Blake is not a girl, but still, tae kwon do training and karate and other martial arts can lower a girl’s chances of not surviving attempted or actual rape. As a blind fighter, I feel that jane would have a better advantage. By fifteen, which is the millennial age she’s at, or let’s say chronological age, she is able to be pregnant, and so this is what she has to learn: first, the school must include Jane in all the sex ed stuff. For Jane’s high school, let’s just say the teachers tell her parents, “She is absolutely required to take sex ed because she has more risks than you all do.” I think all students, regardless of ability, should be given mandatory sex ed, and it can’t include abstinence only until marriage things. The whole program should start with the girls’ and boys’ eleventh birthdays. That’s the average age a boy evolves in to a biological man, and about the average age a girl reaches the menarche. That’s the very first time she gets her periods. Because of this, girls are more at risk, so I think even all students should be given a rigorous sex ed program that includes what to do if a girl is raped. Birth control should be implemented for teenagers without parental consent. I mean, if Jane’s rape happens and the current law structure remains in place, the parents may say, “Ok, we’re going to take Jane’s stuff out so she can’t have kids.” They might also say, “She’s incapable of x, y, and z.” Jane’s parents may be the worst of parents, or they could be the best. But let’s say that Jane received Rape aggression Defense training as well as karate and support from school sex ed programs like the one I described. Jane would, in the scenario in the quiet street, say to Bob, “Get away from me.” She’d assume the fighting stance, then, when her clothes are manhandled off, she’d spring into action. Weaponry would also be a problem, but with the aid of Jane’s strength, even without flourishes, she will be able to ward off pregnancy. IF the rape goes through, Jane’s school would say, go to the nearest ER or hospital room. The doctors would give her birth control pills or a morning after birth control pill, which Jane would take without a parent’s permission because it’s a sexual emergency. Some parents are kind of old school as I’ve said before. Another way to apprehend a predatory rapist chasing after our Jane is for her to hold the guy down after the old kick in the groin. She must, if anything, scream, and hope that someone runs past. Remember the 911 post I did before? Let’s say that Jane has a smartphone, a bit of support from her school or family, and she uses the emergency app. The police would run by and pick up Bob, and that would be the end of Bob and possibly an unwanted pregnancy at too young an age.
Now, here’s another scenario that could hurt Jane’s chances of success in life: rape and sexual assault by known attackers. One thing a rapist tells his victim is that nobody will believe her. With Jane’s blindness being in question as a factor in the cops’ unbelief, Jane may have no trust in the cops or her community. We need to believe all the victims until we see the rape is fake. We must evaluate all victims of a supposed rape so we can best be the judge. In Jane’s case, we have to take it seriously. We must seek cooperation from Jane, collect DNA evidence, and use it to place her Bob at the scene. Jane and Bob will both have to face each other in a courtroom, and Jane will have to tell Bob that he is an animal who doesn’t deserve a girlfriend. Bob will likely go to jail with the proper proof, and a doctor’s medical records would be enough proof. Defense attorneys can say all they want that Jane’s blindness or visual impairment make it impossible for her to identify the rapist, but the doctors’ DNA evidence would say otherwise. Sort of a law and order SVU episode, right? It’s not that simple.
Now, what are Jane’s chances of succeeding in life after two different scenarios? Rape and not being raped? Well, a rape victim is likely to be insecure, inept at trusting others, unable to be friends with the opposite sex, etc. I see all the classic symptoms of mistrust of community in about 50% of females who were raped as young girls. Let’s suppose Jane went to a therapist named Jessica. Jessica analyzes Jane and determines that the rape had a psychological impact on her ability to trust. Supposedly she can’t deal with guys, and withdraws from everybody, and has flashbacks, nightmares, etc. Jane must be treated for this brutal attack or she will either become a predator herself, which is very rare, or be unable to secure a job, marriage, and home. Susan Brown-Miller says that rape is a dominating game that men like to play with women, and it’s humiliating. She was what the people of the 1960s called a radical feminist. Well, I say that even the feminists are correct when they say that rape humiliates the woman. Today, anti-choice politicians think it’s ok to make decisions for a woman who’s been raped. It’s almost akin to the Muslim way of dealing with it: punish her for fornicating. Well, in America, we don’t do this. Everybody’s fine, and rape does make the woman feel dirty, but if she learns that she is not dirty and she is a clean person with a clean heart in God, she is fine. I’ve been slutted out, so to speak, for having had two partners before, but none of those were nonconsentual or casual either. But looking at the victims of rape today, I see a really disturbing pattern. Some of the rape victims come down with pregnancy at too early an age. Others have a psychological issue or two, and others, in more general senses, become stronger. It’s rare for a woman to become a female predator, as I’ve read case studies of such a lady. Predisposition is what they call it.
Well, gotta shut down his poor PC for the night. I hope all of you have enjoyed this not so weird post, and find it important that all females with disabilities get the support they need from family and friends so that they can have a more fulfilling life. Society doesn’t help this crisis.

This Week’s News and Announcements, Don’t Know When I’ll Post Again

Dear readers,
It’s been a while, but posting here I put on hold because of Daylight Screwing Torture. Ugh. I hate not being on the same damn hour as Blake. God, it’s like we’re out of sync with each other, and it hurts. Ugh, well, what will I do? My church is having a seder, a Jewish passover feast on Good Friday. Jesus had his last supper on Thursday. Glynn is really trying to show us Exodus in reality, and I hope to God I can throw in a few words about the Jewish one I went to.
I’ll first start by saying it all had to do with a guy friend I know pretty well on my Facebook page. Aaron has known me for a while, and he was the first guy to walk into my life, and yes, I was like madly attracted to him. HE kissed me while we were supposed to watch Office Space on his little bitty laptop. Ugh.
Ok, but the weird thing was that I found Passover, and it was a great celebration. We had Hebrew blessings, matzah balls and bread, bitter herbs, the whole bit. But the Rabbi was able to lead well, and the Rabbinical students who washed my hands were great. They blessed both hands and then one guy had me recite the prayer before the hands were washed and we ate our foods and we sang a bit. After the whole thing, we feasted on lots of things. Honestly, I love Passover and Easter season. Good Friday and Passover have not coincided for a while, and that’s how it was when Jesus died. This is my faith, and this is how I get closer to God. Blake and I are really huge on spiritual matters.
I’d like to clear up something about what M.O. has accused me of having done on Facebook. First off, I barely write statuses about my friend Art. I have absolutely not written any bad stuff about Art and have kept careful not to do so. Art and I are talking about his honeymoon stuff, and I decided to email my dad about the KSC location and access stuff. Dad was great, so I want to thank him profusely for his help in helping me and Art decide what I think would be best. As I know the modern Florida and Art grew up in an old Miami, I think it would be helpful if I would explain that the Rosen Shingle Creek may not be the best and most accessible way to transport oneself to Disney. Disney World is a good place, I’ll say. If there’s but one thing about Florida I will miss, it’s that place. But I feel unsafe on that Florida soil until stuff is resolved. No comments here.
I do not think Art is a bad person, and we’ve totally renewed a friendship, and it’s like even tighter than two magnet poles. You know how the north and south poles of a magnet are polar opposites, and how one magnet hangs on to the polar opposite of another? It’s the same way with me and Art and me and Blake. Except me and Blake are like the same magnet, if you know what I mean. Magnets are fun to play with, and I have had many fun things in my hands before that had magnets in them.
Magnetism is so fun, and yes, Jessie says there’s going to be a magnet in the iWatch bands. Poor messy one. He doesn’t know that Blake and I might supposedly be messier.
Also this week, I got to watch the Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 1. Katniss Everdeen is a total mess. But you know, she’s the best mess I’ve seen her in for a while. She’s like literally angry because Panam Capital people are trying to kill her, and the President Snow is a bad ass traitor himself. Katniss has a great big heart and a golden smile for all of us, and yes, a fiery look on her face all the time she does the “proppos.” Propaganda clips. The propaganda videos are real, and Katniss knows that the Capital are a bunch of bloodthirsty villains who want to kill her. Well, what would happen if you were forced to kill for the sake of everybody seeing it? And your best friend from another state or district in your country or province was killed as well? Well, Katniss was really grieved. Of course, Katniss would be the mess she appears to be in the beginning, but she uses that anger to free her people in Panam. I want to see what happens in Part 2.
I want to let some people know what has happened recently. C.H., a young woman who was talking to me on Facebook and other social media, has chosen not to speak with me again, and has accused me of walking all over her and being “too nice” to her. I think that’s how she’d put it. She’s not a bad person, but I feel she would benefit from someone who is gifted enough and caring enough to take a long hard look at what happened to her in the past, which I will not write here. C.H., I hope you realize that I prayed for you with my friend Ericka. Blake heard me crying last night, and he was quite disturbed to hear it. It was awful, and he may advise me not to speak with people who just don’t appreciate what I do for them. It’s way out of line for C. to do this to me. I wish I could give her a few hugs, and since I don’t want anyone to know who this girl really is, I’ve chosen to use a first letter or initials. As I do with all people who wish not to be identified in this blog.
Please pray for C. as she recovers from traumas similar to mine. I wonder if Katniss is the same way, but worse than that. Katniss hates everybody but her friends, and those people who are unarmed. Katniss hates Snow, and she wonders about the roses in the crater where District Thirteen once lay. Or was supposed to be destroyed, but the people live in a bunker and do military schedules and stuff. Anyhow, I think I better kiss Blake goodnight as best I can and go straight to bed.
I love you all.

Things Not to Tell A Therapist If You are In Your Teens …

Dear Readers,
I’m honestly floored by the stuff some of my mentally ill and blind comrades and friends have been through. Among the new friends I’m making are people with multiple identities, and this lady from Ireland who’s pretty sweet, but she has like a billion personalities, one of them on her email as Carol Anne. She’s sweet. I think she stands behind me all the time when she sees my stuff. There’s a lady called Laura Lyn, who’s really cool. She has the same thing that Carol Anne does. Up until now, I’d never heard of dissociative identity disorder, and never heard what it was like. Now I see. I’m glad honestly that I’ve been on this new list for a while. I love the moderator. She understands me and really works with all of us. I find common ground with a lot of the blind and mentally ill comrades and friends I’ve so far met.
There’s lots of stuff on the list, and there’s a drop box folder full of books and stuff. I’ve never seen but one mental health documentary or movie in there, but I’ve got to see one. It fascinates me that there are books about mental illness and psychotic episodes. I recommended a couple books myself. The books I recommended involved police and social work collaboration. They were great books.
Now, to the subject of this post. We blind and mentally ill people are sometimes faced with parental guardianships, and sometimes in our teenage years, we have to be in therapy. We discussed HIPA’s relationship with patients and therapists who are either wards or in their teens. There are a few things I can’t tell my therapists in Florida. I would never tell my parents about the following subjects and we all know why. I’m writing about these things in my blog, and only because they allow me to let others know what is going on.
1. I cannot talk about the stuff my mom did to me when I was little. Ok, Blake and I were discussing the whole keeping one’s head in a steady and still position as a blind person. But my mother and dad didn’t like it even when I was born, and Mom says I did it so much while sitting. Well, she got pissed. I can’t remember one specific incident, but I do remember some times when Mom would threaten to do the whole Dunce Cap sign routine with me while I was walking around in public. She wanted me to wear a sign. A printed sign would read: keep your head still. I’m sick of people thinking that even this particular sign would stop the child from doing that unthinkable habit. I cannot even tell my therapist about this because what will happen is that they will ask me further questions, and I’ve written about this on an NFB list, only to be judged by both moderators and some others. The moderator of the NFB NABS list was judgmental, and did not understand that … well, he didn’t understand that I had nothing to do with those stupid rumors, and when I wrote about my head issue, he never even spoke up once. I’m sorry, but NFB wants 100% independence, but use of obsession with head rocking habits oftentimes will thwart the other stuff. The most recent incidence that the head rocking was put on the hot seat was in Tallahassee, and my O and M instructor was not so instructed by me, but my parents no less to count how many times my head was rocking. It’s not a good or safe way to go ahead and train someone in mobility. There’s no way to stop the head rocking by this time, after all the threats, the yelling, and worst of all, my ear being used as a microphone. My mother would try and slap me across one side of my head, especially if it were rocking and she got pissed. It still gets to me today because for one, the head rocking was obsessively talked about by both parents, but not me. I was more worried about wanting to cross streets. I wanted to be free, but my parents wanted another goal: to walk a straight line without head rocking. Well, did the O and M instructor really see what went on at four? No. Did the Tallahassee Light House of the Big Bend really look into the abusive and rather horrific situation that occurred while my head would rock? Did they look at the Stevie Wonder comments I got from folks at FSDB? Um, … you guessed it. No. This is something I’m breaking my silence about, but therapists thank Goodness will never read this. I haven’t given my old therapists in Florida access to my blog, but my parents can’t talk about this any longer because they’ve destroyed any and all trust I had regarding this issue.
2. I cannot say anything about boyfriends and relationships with a therapist in Florida any longer. Every time my counselors were told, “Beth is obsessed with …”, I’d say I loved the person. Love. Obsession. Can you feel the difference? I don’t think my parents could ever see the difference. What they’re obsessed with themselves is the way you look at someone in the … yes, eyes. When you’re romancing with someone, you look at the pretty eyes. This is why I’m not dating or marrying a sighted person, period. I will not ever be physical with a sighted person because they like the pretty eye thing. I don’t have eyes that work, and my eyes are closed all the time. The sighted Mr. Right might say, “But darling, I want to see what’s in them.” Boy, he’d be in for a surprise when he sees milky fluids and weird stuff floating around my corneas. Ewwwwwww.
3. I can’t even discuss sex and sexual history with therapists in Florida. And I won’t write about it here. I can’t even discuss the thought of wanting sex. I do have normal desires, and my parents have met these desires with scorn and jeering. I honestly have the same old sexual stuff that everybody else has. It’s not overdoing it. I’m not a predator nor am I a pervert. I don’t watch pornography. I have never looked a Playgirl or Playboy or Penthouse or anything weird. So you know, I don’t want sex because the guy is hot in the body. I look at the guy’s other characteristics that I can pick up on. So when I talk about sex with a therapist in Florida, parents find out and go, “You aren’t in a position to have a baby.” I tried to tell Dad this same thing over the phone just as a way to say, “You will not stop me from having sex.” He goes, “You’re not in a position to have a baby.” The Catholic doctrine says that sex is for babies and babies only, but guess what? Some women can’t have a baby. If Blake couldn’t, well, we’d be happy to just stay as ourselves, or we could adopt. Theresa Bradley, my old cane teacher for many years, has made the decision not to have kids. And yet she still has feelings for her husband, and that’s cool. What is sex for? I say it’s all up to the person or persons to decide what it’s for, not a couple of selfish parents who want to keep practicing a materialistic and money obsessed belief that can’t stand against what God has planned for both me and a partner.
4. I can’t discuss past counseling sessions with my parents and therapists. My current therapists are great and more supportive, but I don’t want my parents monopolizing the goals and the recovery markers that my therapists have seen. My parents could say, “She’s obsessed with Blake.” Oh well. My therapists will probably say, “And this is because?” Again, going back to item 2. I will not discuss my love life with a therapist that is in the state of Florida.
I wrote this post because I was inspired to do so after reading stuff on the mental health blindness list. The moderator, a lady called Sam Nelson, who is by the way the coolest person and the most understanding person on the whole planet Earth, has told me that what happened in my therapy past is unacceptable. She’s really stood up for me, and all of us on the list agree that parental guardianship for someone like me who can speak for herself is unreal and unbelievably wrong. I find that this list does not advocate suicide, which is good. We’re all supporting each other’s recovery efforts, and we’re talking right now about many other stuff and things. Sam is talking about getting the logistics of a program in order, and it’s almost the same stuff all blind people face: worksheets. Ugh. I hate worksheets. I’ve been there, done that, and I can relate so much. I love this list, and I must say, I can say just about anything. I was reminded only once about the way to address trigger warnings, and I’ve seen a couple of those. It’s a good list though, and there are some things that I’ve been able to get off my chest. The stuff I posted above was inspired by a thread that yours truly started, one about client and therapist trust issues. Well, the counselors and therapists in Florida were absolutely awful. They were not supportive and did not tell my parents to shut up and stop the emotional torture of “You’re an obsessive little …” They kept calling me spoiled or an ungrateful and spoiled little child even in my preteen and adolescent years. For one, my own children could be in danger. Now, those are things I can’t tell therapists if I’m in my teens or in the current state I’m in.
For one, what teenager would tell a therapist she’s in love with a boy and had sex with him? What real teenager in her right mind would say, I’m pregnant and want to keep the baby? Watch Fifteen and pregnant, and you’ll see why. Teenage pregnancy is a problem in America, and I know it may sound welcome in Africa, but African cultures allow arranged marriages to older men to occur among teenage girls. I find it stupid. Here, you can’t marry until you are eighteen. This I say is reasonable. This is because a girl is seriously not developed enough in her teenage years, and we have scientific and empirical evidence that suggests the brain is still not quite there yet. The prefrontal cortex is still cutting and tying itself and going here and there at that age, and teenagers are not ready to make those kinds of decisions about marriage and sex. To be placed in a marriage with a really bad guy is not favorable for the girl. Africa also has the highest rate of maternity deaths anywhere, so it’s no surprise that America is trying to end teenage pregnancy. I have seen friends and a cousin pregnant at seventeen, and my cousin had a baby when I saw her at that age. Baby Alyssa was absolutely cute and pretty, but she was so tiny! The mother was only seventeen, and if she were in Africa, she’d surely die because the way Alyssa was born, there was a complication with the placenta and stuff. That’s what was explained to me. African doctors and healers do not have enough knowledge half the time to care for a mother. Birth attendants in Ethiopia just don’t know what they’re doing to the poor child brides. In America, girls should be allowed to dream big, and that’s just that. I broke up with Deq because of the risks my daughters would have been put into. Their would be uncle Ibrahim, his dear brother, said to me once that FGM, female circumcision, or in Somali words, Gudniin, is wrong and oppressive with any group of people. Gudniiin is a bad thing, so bad for women because there’s a book that talks about it and I know the person who wrote said book. Sadly, I can’t seem to talk further with this wonderful lady, I don’t know if she’s ever able to write much English on her wall. But she’s doing lots to try and end the practice of female circumcision.
Phew! I can’t talk to a therapist about all I’ve written, and girls here in the U.S. are just some of the saddest ever in this world because of parents like … well, like the parents who sold their daughter for sex. Or parents who don’t let their daughter out of the house. Or the parents who just hate their daughter because either she’s imperfect or what have you. That’s all I can say for now.


I was in a car with a lady studying to be a psychotherapist, and suddenly realized how much I have it good here compared with the way it was in Florida. Sadly, my family wouldn’t have approved of me writing this and other things. After I left Florida, I swore to myself I wouldn’t allow my family to get in to my business. I had already used Skype to talk to other people. I had met blind people. However, it was an internet contact that said I needed Colorado Center training. It was Colorado Center’s ability to allow me to have relationships that would ultimately open the door for me and Blake and me and Deq and all that stuff. It was the CCB that would train me to cook, and now I can cook many different recipes and improvise in the kitchen.
To be honest, I love my life here compared to the life I had before. It is better, not so much because of the snow or the buses. It’s all because I’m in charge. Take charge with confidence and self-reliance! I don’t know why I think about this slogan, and now it comes as a big surprise that nobody in the CCB has any idea what is going on. As a MHCD patient, I have to go to a therapist at least once every two weeks, but now I have an hour session. Thirty minutes is not enough for every two weeks. I’d rather it be an hour especially because there’s no way I can do a group. I’m not sure I like group therapy because I’m not stupid, antisocial, or anything like that. Sadly, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be in Titusville’s “Circles of care”. Well, it’s in Melbourne, Florida, but it’s a hospital that just drugs you up.
I’m not one to talk about my past, but it was because of badly done counseling that I had a nervous breakdown. I do not trust the doctors and counselors I had back in that rural outpost in Titusville. I did not get the supports I needed. This includes blind and mentally ill friends, or blind friends or mentally ill patients with disabilities. Not until I found the Groups Io list that my friend Sam has put together. I just want to say if not for Sam, I would not be able to voice my opinion and be able to talk about the real problems at places like LaAmistad in Florida and other Behavioral Care units that do not accommodate the blind. I’d be damned if I ever went back to LaAmistad again. The place had strict HIPA rules, and then they wouldn’t allow me to really have friends or relationships with patients. Women rode with women and men rode with men to the different places. People just did not have any idea what I was feeling, and there was a ten foot of fifteen foot rule between myself and another guy. LaAmistad did not comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act, and my parents did not even care. they just picked the place because a caseworker and my cousin both recommended it. My parents wanted me whipped to their standards, not helped and healed. They had no definition of “healing” that supported blindness training. Well, they didn’t even give me a blessing to go here. Well, now I am further along in my spiritual journey than I ever have, and I feel better about doing things. I make all my appointments, I do all the bookings, and Blake is encouraging to me and it really helps that he cares about me. Not just that, but friends like Bethany and Elizabeth care. God put these people in my life for a reason.
The revelations I experienced were that the support or lack thereof that I got in Florida was only a tool for emotional abuse. I wasn’t fond of the way this went. I was forced to have a one way ticket to Hell, and my parents wanted things their way. All the time, when I told my counselor something I didn’t like, my parents just didn’t get it. Here’s an example or two:
We watched the Matrix as a family. While I think that’s violent, my brothers got a big kick out of it. Two against one? Huh. Well, it didn’t pan out with me because it was too violent and there were some weird stuff in there. All this violence in all the Matrix movies only reminds us of how violent this world actually is. The Matrix is a weird movie that could put others in this weird sense of a parallel universe where a machine tells you everything. I don’t believe any of that crap.
So I told the counselor I had at the time that I do not wish to watch R-rated movies, even if I was old enough. But I also had a problem with the violence and the weirdness of it all. Terminator 3 was ok, but still too violent and action packed. I hate action movies myself, and here I was, sitting in the family room watching all this garbage.
Another example had to do with a wedding I had to attend in 2007. I told the psychologist I hated the idea of leaving for a wedding of for one, someone I had no business talking to and for another, a family member I didn’t want to know. I also had college classes to take, and could not take a whole week off for this wedding. I enrolled for a summer math class, and only to have to double up on work one week, which exhausted the crap out of me. My family didn’t seem to care, and I had to go. I don’t think I’ll ever go to weddings any more because of that one. For one, the day in Cohassett was cold enough to make it look more like a spring or something like the British Isles. It had no warmth to it. For another, my ears rang like bells when I got back to my hotel room. For a third thing, I really wished I was the one getting married, and that Jonathan, my dad’s cousin, wasn’t. I don’t think it really mattered to me who Jonathan was, and I know that Kristin was a sweet person, but I really felt sick deep down. I felt like I was gonna explode all over the place. A week! Away from college, and yet Danny gets everything. I had to sleep with a brother. Either that or in a bed near my parents. Ugh. Well, I’m the girl, right? So I should’ve had the privacy, but no. I didn’t.
The counselors didn’t even take my needs into consideration. What if the brothers had sexually molested or abused me? This could happen, but thank God it didn’t. I praise God every day these days for not having allowed this to happen because had I been pregnant by the brothers or anything else, my parents would have aborted the child or made me give him or her up. They would have also taken all my body parts out, made it impossible for me to bless a husband with a child. I thought this could happen at one point, and I won’t let it happen. Not till I have two kids, they are alive, and we can work it out. Whoever the husband is has to understand that a big family is not feasible. As a blind woman, I want a small family. I can’t afford nine kids like my poor aunt. God, please. I just want a small family, a family of my own, a family that supports and cares and understands. That is the real definition of family. I pray for at this moment all of the families out there with unbelieving people in them. Like, for instance, my own and Blake’s. We heard a great sermon at church today. Now that Grace is able to do sermons again and the snow actually left us, praise God, Glynn and Keith had us doing all sorts of stuff. Keith preached, and it made a light bulb go off. When Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law, was mentioned five times in the flow of the chapter of Exodus we read today, I thought of Kathy. I thought of her, and how one day, somehow in my mind, she might see how much my character overshadows the doubts she’s had. Jethro and Zipporah had the same issue. Zipporrah,Moses’ wife, was Midian. Her dad was a high priest. Jethro was willing to give his daughter to Moses because he saw something in him that others wouldn’t. Even when the Midianites were foes of the Israelites, the high priest of Midian, struck by what God did for his son-in-law, bowed to the God of the Hebrews. I pray every day that the Jethros of the world find favor with God and find that God wants them either to come to him or back to him. I hate to compare a lady to a man and there are two different situations, but I will never stop taking care to pray for the families that fall before God or are persecuted. We prayed for the ones in Syria being persecuted due to belief in Christ. ISIS has a problem with Christ, and soon if they don’t realize that Jesus Christ is Lord, not Muhammad, they will find themselves in deep trouble. ISIS members have been recently shown in videos destroying ancient statues. Ugh. What will we know of Iraq’s ancient cultures? It was before civilization began that we thought we’d have to keep the Gods happy. Now, one god came to change them all. It was the Hebrew god Yahweh, the same God who bore Christ by Mary, the same God who now brings Jethro and Moses together. Moses named his two sons according to the stages of his life. Gershom and Eliezer were the boys’ names, and thank God they came back to Moses. It was a great reunion, and Keith’s preaching got me thinking. Yes, it is dangerous when Beth is thinking about stuff. I do wish that someone would tell me what I’m thinking. …

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