Chapter 16 & Last Chapter - Why I Shattered the Steel Ceiling & How I Did It

There was a man in his sixties that addressed me as “Girl” from the first time I walked into this building. That was absolutely the wrong thing to call me!  I told him, “I’ve been a woman for a long time!”  I had to be emphatic several more times.  I will let you use your imagination about my language the last time.

He was constantly sitting by the front door in the lobby. Everyone had to walk past him entering and leaving the building.  He kept asking me, “Where ya gonna put all of that stuff you moved in?”  I ignored him.

He acted like I was supposed to be friendly, and, of course, my first thought was oh he’s being so nice to me.  My second thought was he’s a lonely old man. 

I knew those were the things he was trying to portray, but I had finally wised up. In the old days I would have jumped his bones, probably married him and then decided that I didn’t like him.

Now it felt like he was sitting there trying to snare me or any other woman that walked past. It had taken my whole life to start understanding the ‘new meat syndrome’. 

It is the game that is played in every arena of life: schools, offices, bars, especially women coming out of prison, and now with me moving into a new building. The first people who always show up are the ‘players’ who will use the new person.  The nice men and women will sit back to see if the new person respects themselves because, if they do not respect themselves, why should anyone else respect them?

I had ended up marrying quite a few of these ‘players’ because I had never learned to respect myself. Where would I have learned that?  Certainly not from the pedophile, my mother or the authorities who just wanted to lock me up.  And I ended up being a ‘player’ myself by thirteenth stepping quite a few of my husbands into the AA program.

Also, I have apparently always sent out vibes that I am a caretaker because that is who always shows up first. Someone who needed me to help them, and this man was no different. 

Not too long after I moved in, and I wasn’t responding to him in the lobby, he knocked on my door on a Sunday morning. I opened the door.  He was obviously drunk, “Oh, sweetheart, I got the wrong door.”

“Yes you did!” SLAM!

Later his breath smelled like a brewery when he asked me to dance during one of our community room parties. I told him, “NO!  Get that booze breath out of my face!”

After many of these episodes I finally sent a letter to the building manager. I asked her to look at the surveillance video from the lobby.  In the letter I explained that I had gotten out of the hospital with pneumonia the day before and was still really sick.  A resident in the building who was pulling the fire alarm for attention did it again. 

I put on my winter coat and boots when the alarm sounded. I put my oxygen concentrator and purse in the cart.  I pulled the cart to the lobby and sat down at the table because I didn’t have enough air or strength to go any further.  The ‘leech’ called me girl again and kept grabbing at my hand until the fireman finally arrived and gave me permission to go back to my apartment.  It was all on the surveillance video.

The building manager told me that I was not the only woman who had complained about this man’s behavior. She told me that he was not to speak to any of us.  A few months later he moved out.

If you identify with any part of this, please, please learn this lesson so you do not have to go through the heart ache of making the mistakes over and over like I did. It really is better to live by yourself than trying to find someone who will make you happy.  It took me almost seventy years to understand that happiness really does come from inside and not from some guy.

I worked so hard to please those men so they would reciprocate and do nice things for me too, but what always happened is that they ended up expecting me to just keep doing those nice things for them while they took me for granted. Most got at least verbally abusive and expected me to take that too.  Please do not do this to yourself!

Living here by myself has taught me to do all of those nice things for me instead of another person. I took out the middle man!

One of my friends told me many years ago, “Bonnie, if you keep fishing in the same pond, you’re gonna keep catchin’ the same kind of fish.” He was right because I met the last five husbands at the AA club and the one before that in substance abuse treatment.

It took me a lot of years to realize that when I am trolling and using sexy clothes for bait, I am going to snare men that are only looking for sex. I had no idea, even while I was going through all of those classes, that there are some men who might have been attracted to my intellect.  Hell, I wouldn’t have known what to do with them if they weren’t into sex too. 

When I was six the pedophile taught me that sex was currency. If I did what he wanted just right, he would buy me that pony that never showed up.  The boys and men gave me beer for sex and the tricks paid me cash for sex. 

Moving into my own apartment has been my claim to independence. I gave up on ever having another relationship with a man beyond friendship, and that means no more friends with benefits either.  I am just plain tired of trying!

I also used a lot of sexual innuendos when I was trolling. Okay, I still do that at seventy years old.  I love Betty White’s television program where old people spoof the youngins!  It is a part of my personality that I like.  I like to play so I think I’ll keep it. 

For instance, I stopped smoking for two months a couple of years back. I used nicotine inhalers.  A male friend that has been sober with me for over three decades said, “Stop sucking on that thing.”

I was shocked and called him by name, “No man has ever told me that!”

He shook his head, “I forgot who I was talking to.”

Another friend told me the other day that I am still trolling, but doing the catch and release thing instead of taking them home. Another friend chimed in, “Yeah, you don’t even have any barbs on your hook any more.”

It is so nice to not take life, me or anyone else so dammed serious. I just get through it sober being grateful for what I have, doing the next right thing and laughing as much as possible.  Negativity stole way too much of my life.  I won’t waste one more second in that darkness!

At first it was fun putting everything where I wanted it without worrying whether there would be room for somebody else’s stuff, or if he, whoever he was at the time, would like it. The pictures and wall decorations seemed to tell me where they wanted to hang, including the picture of Lori and me.  It was taken a few days before she died.

It had never been hung on my wall. Not in forty nine years.  I was scared that my family might make some kind of remark about me not deserving to have a picture of her.  Since I had not been in contact with them for years, and they were not going to be visiting me, the picture went up where I can see my beautiful daughter the first thing when I open my eyes in the morning and I tell her “goodnight sweetheart” as I went to sleep. 

Looking back now, I can see that it was not so much that I was afraid of my family not thinking that I deserved to have a picture of Lori, it was that I thought I did not deserve to have a picture of her. At one time that was undeniably true, but I hung the picture because now I believe my daughter can be proud of the person I have become. 

Angels seemed to flock to me when I moved into my apartment including a wooden plaque, “Angels Gather Here” and another one that says, “Caution Angels Crossing Overhead”. Friends gave me angels and I bought some at consignment stores.  A friend even gave me the angel that she had crocheted for her mother.  They are in every room watching over me, but it took some time for me to start really feeling their presence.

I moved in September 2011. By the time it got cold enough that I had to stay inside because of my COPD, I had everything exactly where I wanted it.  The toilet paper was going the right way on the dispenser, the toilet lid and seat were always down, I ate what and when I wanted, and I always had ice cubes. 

My apartment was clutter free because I picked up after myself. My aide came twice a week and I took a shower while she vacuumed and scrubbed the floors, dusted, did my dishes, did the laundry and took out the trash. 

She took me to doctor’s appointments and stores in very hot and cold weather so I didn’t have to be outside very long. She carried the commodities and groceries into my apartment and put them away.

Things had shown up when I needed them. For instance, I told my Higher Power that I needed a dirty clothes hamper.  We had just thrown the dirty clothes down the basement steps at #B’s house.  I did not have that option in my apartment, but there was plenty of room for a dirty clothes hamper in my bathroom.  You know the kind with hinges on the lid.

Well, I was drawn to a certain consignment shop and there was exactly what I needed instead of what I thought I wanted. Sitting in front of me was canvas on an aluminum frame with wheels for five dollars.  It was perfect because my aide could roll it down the hall to the elevator and then into the laundry room.  She did not have to lift the clothes to get my laundry done.  She could lay the clothes on hangers across the top and roll them back to my apartment.

My whole apartment came together that way. I would go shopping in consignment stores for what I thought I wanted and come home with what I really needed.  Miracles like that happen when I am paying attention and stay out of the way.

There was only one space that still needed something, and it was above my large roll top desk. I decided that I would wait until I saw whatever it was that wanted to live there.  That space was empty for several years until I found a light green wooden board almost two feet long with white glitter letters, “This Girl’s Got Game”.

The other vignettes on the walls and surfaces have changed very little since those first months. Actually, I have just added more angels as they came to live with me.  My Native American altar and wall keeps evolving as I receive gifts.

I find it interesting to hang those gifts as they show up. Somehow the whole grouping stays in balance.  I love walking around looking at the different arrangements because everything here has a story. 

The plates I asked my aunt to paint for dad’s birthday of the house where I was raised and the barn he built on the farm are hanging in my kitchen so I can see them from my recliner where I sleep. I feel comfort knowing that I can see where I started life, I live where hospice will help me finish life, and this book will fill in the middle.

My bedroom is for display and storage since I have slept in my recliner for years now. Not only is it hard for me to breathe when I am lying flat, but my acid reflux is also problematic unless my head is raised.

I love my ‘bling’! I have a lot of what I used to call ‘junk jewelry’, but now people are calling them ‘statement pieces’.  I bought lots of hangers to display the necklaces and bracelets. 

The bedroom curtain fabric is loose weaved so I can hook my earrings all over them. I separated them into colors.  It turned out lovely.  Visitors tell me that they are going to do something similar.

As the weather got colder, I noticed that I did not get calls or visits from the people I thought were my friends. I was very grateful when one remembered me at Christmas.  She dressed up like Santa Clause and delivered what she called a food basket, but she brought a lot more groceries than a basket of food. 

The timing was great because it was at the end of the month. The retirement from Social Security took care of my necessities like rent and telephone, but the $15 a month in food stamps didn’t go very far.  I was grateful to get commodities, a few meals delivered, but I had not found the food pantry yet.

That first Christmas was great even though I had no money for gifts, nor anyone to share the holiday with. I loved my three foot tall, bent-willow Christmas tree with white lights and lots of tiny wooden decorations.  I also had a tiny nativity scene and other items to set around the apartment.  Lori and I had our first real Christmas together.

You see, the year she died I had bought a seven foot live Christmas tree, but she and mom were killed on December 15th.  That tree leaned against the outside of the back porch and died too.  The doll I bought her was wrapped in my room, but I was the one who ripped open the paper.

The first Christmas in this apartment I continued to talk to Lori’s picture on the wall, only this time I shared good memories of past holidays and told her how very much I missed her. The day after Thanksgiving we put up the tree and set out the decorations.  I didn’t take them down until after the first of the year.  We listened to Christmas carols and I felt what I believe is the true essence of Christmas: love, peace and gratitude for all of my blessings. 

I knew that I was truly blessed because I woke to the sunrise through my east windows. There is a small park on the other side of the parking area.  It was, and still is, enchanting to pray and meditate as the sun seems to yawn, stretch and get ready of the day with me. 

I tell everyone that I live in poverty, but I have it dressed up nice.

After the first of the year it got pretty bad. I didn’t go outside very often because it was almost impossible to breathe in the winter air.  Sometimes I had to go to the hospital with pneumonia. 

I called AA sisters when I got real lonely. Most of them said they were happy to hear from me, but didn’t call me back.  It hurt a lot because I had always thought that I had lots of friends.  Also, there were women who had told me for years how much they loved me.  They said that I had helped them, but they were no longer speaking to me at the club.  I could not figure out what was going on.

Finally, I started hearing that #B had broken up with his girlfriend and she had left the state. His daughter and her boyfriend had moved out of his house.  Then I was told some of the things his daughter had said about #B and me since she came to this country, but she had apparently forgotten to tell anybody that #B and I had both gone broke trying to keep her happy. 

I finally understood why people no longer wanted anything to do with me. Hell, I wouldn’t speak to me either if I believed all of those things about me.

I knew there was nothing I could say that was going to make any difference. In fact, anything I would say would just make it worse.  I decided that I needed to find something to focus on to get my mind off the loneliness and rage I felt about the lies being spun about me and #B.  I tried writing this book, but I didn’t want anyone reading what I typed and deleted it.

One day I opened my closet and realized how many pretty clothes I had, but most of them were too small for me. I started my ‘live-it’ instead of a ‘diet’ that day. 

I went from 215 pounds down to 174 pounds by spring and was starting to feel pretty good about me again. I could get into some of the clothes I had not worn for years.  I only had twenty four more pounds to lose and I could get the hernias fixed in my abdomen.

I called #B and asked to have coffee with him. He agreed.  He started our conversation with, “Bonnie, our relationship was always just friendship for me, but I knew you needed more.”

Although I was shocked that he felt that way, I told him the truth, “Actually, I prefer it that way so I don’t have to have sex.”

He covered up the shocked look on his face pretty fast and we had a nice conversation. We agreed to be friends because neither of us deserved any more pain in our lives.

#B was at the club one bingo Saturday night. He said that his daughter was having her baby.  His ex-wife had come from England and was staying with his daughter and her boyfriend while the baby was born and after it came home.  A few minutes later he got the call from his daughter’s boyfriend that the baby had arrived and he could come meet his granddaughter. 

His daughter and her boyfriend brought the baby and her mother to the club on another bingo night. A while later the parents brought the baby girl to the club on still another bingo night.  His daughter let #B hold the baby while he sat next to me.  The baby was beautiful.

I had been trying to write this book since I published Proclivity in 2007, but just could not get it flowing.  I deleted it the last time and finally prayed that I could figure out what format and voice to use.  Then I turned it over to my Higher Power.

A short time later one of my mentors sent me a paper she had written about how the attorney that tells the best story in court usually wins the case. Then I was drawn to articles that seemed to be answering questions that I didn’t realize I was asking.  One day I sat down at the computer and started typing.  You are reading the end product.

It was the first part of December 2012. I was getting out the Christmas tree and decorations.  I realized the fifteenth was coming up.  That would be the fiftieth anniversary of the day that Lori and mom were killed in the car accident, and the day that my sister lived through it. 

I had been writing about mom’s car accident and remembering how much I loved my sister, how proud I was of her for working so hard to learn to walk again, and what a courageous person she was to come through everything. She had graduated from high school the evening I got out of prison.  She even made all of the arrangements, by herself, so she could get married the next night.

I agonized over it for days. I wanted to call her on December 15th and tell her how glad I was that she lived and how much I loved her, but the last time I saw my siblings it didn’t turn out very well.  I should have gone to counseling to deal with my feelings of being treated like an emotional yoyo again instead of sending her those repugnant letters. 

I decided that I would not call her because she would probably just hang up on me like she always did, but the morning of the fifteenth I found myself picking up the phone and telling my Higher Power, “Thy will be done” and dialing her number.

When she answered I said, “This is Bonnie. I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you lived.”

“Me too.”

I continued, “You are a great mother” and there was some more, but she interrupted me. She said that her husband had recently passed away, thanked me for calling and hung up.

I was shocked about her husband and realized that I may have brought her more pain by calling her than if I had just left her alone. I felt bad and decided that I would not call her again. 

However, the morning of their wedding anniversary, May 23rd, I once again found myself dialing her number.  I left a message that I knew it would be a hard day for her because it was the first anniversary after he passed, “I am praying for you.”

I thought she was not answering the phone because it was me calling, but when I got home from the noon meeting she had left me a message that thanked me for remembering. She said she had been decorating his grave when I called.

A few days later, in June, I called her on her birthday and sang the three verses of happy birthday to her. Nine months later she called me and sang them to me on my birthday. 

I sent her some information about grief. She called to say that she was doing all right.  She said that hospice had helped the whole family through the horrible time of her husband’s illness and passing.  She said that she had her children, grandchildren and great friends so I didn’t need to keep sending her information about grief.

My brother’s birthday is several months after mine. I decided to call him on his birthday, but he told me that I had the wrong number…..twice. 

I called my sister, “The man who answered said I had the wrong number.”

She told me in a cold voice, “I don’t think he wants to talk to you, would be my thought.”

“That’s okay. I tried.”

The next month it was my sister’s birthday again. I did not know what to expect when I called her.  Did she start thinking about it and not want to answer the phone like my brother?  That was none of my business.  I was going to make the call and leave the outcome up to my Higher Power.

I have to admit that one of the biggest miracles I have ever experienced happened on that day. My sister said that she had decided to forgive me.  I had lost all hope of ever being able to give love and feel it returned from any of my family, but that is exactly what has happened. 

We have called each other almost every day since then. I love waking up and talking to her in the morning and saying that we love each other and goodnight at the end of the day.  It feels like we are sisters now.  Actually, the sister that I wish I would have known how to be from the day she was born. 

We have shared our feelings about the past….happy, sad, pissed, hurt and some really funny things with each other. She has filled a hole in my soul that no one else could replace.  I am smiling a lot more now.

Through the years I had told my AA sisters and brothers that they had no idea what Higher Power can do. Now I am living proof that I was telling them the truth.  Thank you HP!

The doctor told me that I absolutely had to stop smoking with my COPD or I would have to go on steroids all of the time to breathe. I remembered how extremely obese Jerry Lewis got on steroids.  I told her that I would rather die than gain that much weight.  However, I agreed to give it a shot, but I had outlived a number of my AA sisters and brothers who were told to stop smoking. 

“Either their lungs filled up and they died or they were diagnosed with lung cancer after they stopped smoking. If my lungs fill up, I will smoke to get the crap coughed up.  If I get diagnosed with cancer, I will smoke instead of going through the hell of not smoking in the last phase of my life.  We both know that the COPD is going to kill me, but there comes a time when I have smoked too long and stopping only hurries my death.”

I had no trouble not smoking for two months. I used my nicotine inhaler and said, “God and I don’t smoke today” when I wanted a cigarette, but I gained all of my weight back.  In fact, I still haven’t lost it. 

My lungs started filling up after two months just like I had watched my AA sisters and brothers go through. I made up my mind that I was not ready to die because I still had this book to finish.  I called several friends to bring me a pack of cigarettes, but they were being good friends and told me “NO!”

I told HP, “If I’m still alive tomorrow morning, I’m gonna go get a pack of cigarettes and cough this shit out of my lungs!”

I went to sleep not knowing if I would wake up and told dad, “This may be the night you have to come get me.”

The next day it took me until noon to get dressed and go to the store to buy the cigarettes. I just could not get my breath and none of the inhalers or nebulizer treatments could get the crap out. 

I bought the pack of cigarettes and went back to the car. By the time I finished the second cigarette I had coughed enough out of my lungs that I had room for air again.  I am still smoking and am almost finished with this book, but I intend to find something else to focus on because I’m not ready to go now either.

I called #B and told him what happened. I asked him to help me get another machine to make my cigarettes because I had given the one I had away along with the tobacco, cigarette tubes, ashtrays and lighters.  He kept me in cigarettes until I got the machine and supplies to make my own again.

One day I was at the club for a noon meeting and #B looked like he was in shock. Come to find out, he was in shock because he had just been fired for looking at pornography on his computer at work. 

I went into shock too, “I would ask you what you were thinking, but obviously you weren’t.”

I have to admit that I was pissed! I had worked my butt off doing the applications and KSAs for him to get that federal job in the first place and all of his promotions after that.  I had made sure he had appropriate clothing including an expensive suit.  Clean and pressed shirts and slacks for years as he climbed the agency ladder.  It took me a day or so before I would even listen to him any further.

He had gone through hell since I moved out. His other girlfriend moved out of state and then his daughter was mad at him and moved out of his house.  In other words, his abandonment issue had been kicked into high gear and he was taking medications to deal with it.  Additionally, he was no longer getting my $600 a month or the kids’ $400.

He had been in a car wreck driving his Mustang convertible where a woman T-boned him as she drove through a red light. He had been run down by a pickup illegally going around the parked bus when he was coming home from work. 

Both of the accidents had exasperated his back and knee pain, and two traumatic brain injuries he got years before when his motorcycle was hit while he was in the Air Force stationed in England.

He had been going to work taking extremely potent medications and making a lot of mistakes because his supervisor demanded that he notify her the day before he took time off, no exceptions. How was he supposed to know what day he might have a migraine headache?  He could not even use his earned vacation time.

He told me that the incident in question was when he had checked a dating site for a message from a woman he was corresponding with and there were thumbnail ads on the side of the screen for pornography, “but I didn’t open them up!”

“Yeah, but you knew better than check personal emails on company time, especially federal company time where they keep track of what you’re doing.”

“I know, but everything was so fuzzy from all of the meds I was taking, and they weren’t taking care of the excruciating pain. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I just looked at him. I knew that he was sitting behind the eight ball because he absolutely didn’t know what to do.  We both knew that I had the expertise, education and training to help him. 

Was I going to get even with him for how he and his daughter had treated me? But she had ended up treating him the same way before she moved out of his house.  Besides, most of our friends had left both of us out there to fend for ourselves after his daughter spun her version of the truth about us. 

I knew that we would never get back together, but as his friend, I had to try to help him. “Get me a copy of all of your medical records, from every place you have had any kind of treatment and I’ll do my thing.”

I have no idea how many hours I spent putting together a timeline of his medical records, prescriptions and the reasonable accommodations that the doctors had prescribed for his work. I was able to show that his supervisor had ignored those reasonable accommodations.

I put together a list of the medications he had been taking and tried to find a pharmacist or doctor that would write an opinion about what behaviors those medications might cause, but no one was willing to put their name or their company’s name on that kind of a document.

I did my research and finally found the web site, ‘drugs.com’. The site listed adverse interactions of taking different medications together and why each one reacted to others in a dangerous way. 

I inserted his medications. The site listed seven major adverse interactions and over sixty moderate adverse interactions.  The report described many of the problems he had been experiencing.  I gave one set of this report to #B and included a set with all of the other correspondence to help him.

The timeline of his medical treatment that I composed, the medication report and the other correspondence I wrote for him reversed his unemployment so he could receive his monthly payments, his attorney agreed to take his cases about the accidents, and his social security disability was approved the first time.

I am glad that I helped him get set up so he would have an income in another state when he and his girlfriend got back together. He moved so he could live with her.  He let me keep using the cell phone for emergencies until his contract ran out.

His daughter married the father of her daughter and I heard that they now have a son. I was told their wedding was beautiful.  #B said that he got to walk her down the isle.  I hope he gets to meet his son someday.  I wish them all well.

A saying that I like is “my life is just a series of AFGOs” (Another Freaking Growth Opportunity – and I cleaned up the ‘F’ from the way it was told to me). In fact, I like it more every year because I have learned to apply the concept to everything in my life. 

There is a lesson in everything, especially in the things that I think are bad when I am going through them. I can always look back and see what I was supposed to have learned. 

My life has gotten a lot easier now that I look for the lesson while I am in the middle of it. It is even better when I remember to make a gratitude list during those episodes so I don’t get frustrated, paranoid or depressed.

An example is when I am driving down the street and someone cuts me off or is driving radically. I had to learn to watch out for those people when I was driving semi over the road because some of them seemed to think that the rest of us are not as important as they are. 

Maybe they think we have more time to get where we are going and should just move out of their way. They honk their horns, as if that will do any good.  Maybe it is the same as swearing at us? 

I have noticed that most of those people are the ones who look mad behind the wheel. I choose to be the one that smiles and thanks them when they hold up their middle finger to tell me that I am number one.  I say a prayer for them to find peace.  It must be horrible to go through life with that much hostility toward others.

I have tried to show you some of the lessons I have learned along the way so maybe you will not have to make the same mistakes, or at least not as many times as I did.

You know, lessons come in many different forms. For instance, I walked into a truck stop in Ohio several decades ago and saw an eighteen inch papier-maché baby gorilla hanging on a rope.  It was cute and had a sad look on its little face.  I was immediately drawn to it, and it went into my bunk for the trip home.  I named it George. 

He hung in my home for a number of years, was in storage when I did not have a home, and hung in front of a banana tree in my office when I was a disability rights advocate and investigator.

One day, while I was listening to a client’s complaints on the phone, I realized what George had been trying to tell me, “When you’re at the end of your rope, just tie a knot and hang on.”

I have come to believe that it is my job to just suit up, show up, pay attention and do the next right thing. I seldom know why I am anyplace in particular until I am in the middle of whatever is going to happen. 

One day I went to fill my car with gas. I intended to go back home, but I had a strong feeling that I was supposed to go to the AA club.  Since I have been more obedient to these feelings for a few years, I drove to the club. 

There was a lady on the porch that was having a mental health meltdown. Most people would have called the police, but because of my education and counseling training, I was able to help her get to the hospital so she could get back on her medications.  I know today that I am simply a conduit for something much larger than me.

It feels good that I am not wasting my education and training. My education is one big part of me being able to be comfortable in my own skin most of the time. All of my mentors along the way, in and out of the 12-Step program, have helped me stay sober for over thirty five years.  I remember them telling me to just help others when I tried to pay them for helping me.  That is what I tell people today, “Just pass on anything you may have learned from me, both what to do and what not to do.”

My life has gotten a lot easier after I figured out that it is not my job to fix anybody, including myself. When I find myself trying to figure out what I need, I have to stop and remember where that kind of thinking always took me. 

I go back to when I told HP that I was turning over my life and will. I have to step back, wait and just experience whatever happens.  I try to be open enough to learn from it….whatever it is.

I was shown again a few months ago how stubborn I can be. My lower legs, ankles and feet had been swelling for quite a while.  Numerous doctors and nurses, for a number of years, have tried to get me to wear support hose to control it, but to me they were for old people, and I was not willing to admit that I was old in my sixties. 

I even balked at seventy one when my doctor offered me a prescription for support knee-highs.

“I can’t get them on!”

“There is an assistive technology device that helps with that.”

“Okay, then give me a prescription for that device too.”

I realized that my feet, ankles and legs felt better when I could get someone to wrap them. I figured I would see if the knee-highs could help.  Well, here I sit telling you that I was wrong in fighting the professionals for so long.  The apparatus makes it easy to put them on, and they feel fabulous.  By the way, they come in black to wear in public.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like change of any kind. I’d rather sit in the crap of the familiar, even though it stinks and hurts like hell, than jump into the unknown that may be worse, or in some cases, just smell different. 

It took me a long time to trust anybody enough to even try the unknown, but when I did, almost every time, when I listened to trustworthy people, the unknown was so much better! Whatever made me think I could fix anybody else?

People got mad at me for getting into their business too much. Today I only offer my thoughts in meetings and when I am asked for advice in private conversations.  Afterwards I mentally lay that person into my Higher Power’s arms, say a prayer for them and go on with my own life. 

Okay, I am going to share some more about how I view Karma. I never know why I am going through something.  That happened several years ago while I was talking to my sister. 

Now remember, I used to hit and intimidate her when we were young. I was six years older so I was a bully.

I have COPD where I do not go outside when it is above ninety or below forty degrees because it is too hard for me to breathe in those excessive temperatures.

Additionally, my immune system is compromised so my doctor has instructed me to not hug or shake hands with anyone during flu season, pretty much October through April. I really miss the hugs, but when I have gone against her advice and hugged anyway, I ended up in the hospital.

I had gotten my flu and whooping cough shots, and already had my pneumonia and shingles shots, but there were people bringing the Ebola virus epidemic from Africa into the United States. 

One man died in Texas from it and two of the nurses that helped take care of him were infected.  One of the nurses flew on a plane with a low grade fever, which means that she was contagious.  There were over one hundred people on the plane and it wasn’t sanitized for three more trips. 

Next we learned that another nurse that cared for the man who died from Ebola is on a cruise ship that Mexico would not allow to dock at their port.  Additionally, there was a world wide food conference in Des Moines shortly after that.  People were coming from the countries in Africa where the epidemic is ramped. 

Needless to say, I was nervous because my immune system barely keeps up with the normal viruses that come around each year. In fact, I pretty much isolate myself so I don’t catch any of them. 

Anyway, I was telling my sister about the emails I sent to the President of the United States, the Governor of Iowa and the FBI in Omaha reminding them that, whether Ebola was intended or not, it is bacterial warfare that ISIS could use instead of trying to figure out how to get bombs on planes to kill us.

We were both laughing about the absurdity of me emailing such important people when I realized that she was really enjoying my paranoia. I told her, “You’re getting even with me for all of the stuff I did to you when we were kids.”

She giggled, “That’s the reason it’s so much fun.”

She sent me a cartoon that she had cut out of the news paper. It made fun of people like me that were worried about the virus.  I called her, “That is cold.”

She giggled.

“That isn’t even right!”

She giggled some more, “I knew you would appreciate it.”

Karma is a bitch, but my sister really does deserve to have her turn!!!

December 15, 2014: Hope, one of the cats I left with #B when I moved here, came back to me.  He and his girlfriend broke up.  Since most places do not allow animals, he asked me to take Hope.  I told him that I was happy to take her, “but you’re gonna have to get her here.  I don’t have that kind of money.”

He flew her from the Phoenix area to Des Moines on the 52nd anniversary of Lori and mom dying.  Hope calmed right down when I stuck my fingers through the gate on the carrier at the air port.  She settled in after she surveyed her new home.  It has been lovely to have her as company for almost two years.

As soon as she got here she kept laying her head in my hand for me to rub her left jaw. My aide helped me take her to a veterinarian who told me that she has a hole in her tooth and the rest of them needed cleaned.  It was going to cost between $450-650.

I have very little money and the $50 for that visit was about my limit each month. I went on the web and Facebook and got lots of agency names to call, but none of them could help me.  The Humane Society told me that I should give her to someone that can afford to take care of her.

I prayed about it and left it in Higher Power’s lap. A friend called the next day and said that I could borrow the money to have her dental work done.  I could pay her back when I had the money.  I paid her $50 a month.  Hope and I will always be very grateful to her.

I called the veterinarian where I had always taken Hope. They were $100-200 cheaper than I was being quoted by the other doctor.  Besides, I knew that both doctors there are kind and really care about animals.  A friend helped me take Hope there and get her home.

The surgery went well, but it turned out that Hope had two large cavities so both teeth were pulled. It took her a while to start feeling better but now she has put on weight, has her coat cleaned as if she has just stepped out of the groomer’s chair, and gets into trouble as much as possible.  In other words, she is back to her old self.

Another blessing: Someone at the veterinarian’s office paid a large bill for me the next time. I had prayed for Hope before she was taken in the back.  I have no idea who did it, but there is a special place in Heaven waiting for them.

I am coming to the end of this book. It has been cathartic for me to remember everything.  I would like to say that it has been a pleasure to spend this time with you, but the truth is, many times I had tears rolling down my face while I typed because it was agonizing. 

Other times the tears were from laughing almost hysterically because I was seeing things like my AA brothers running to the rest room because I had not stopped on the way to Omaha.  I believe my loud fart after we ate lunch that day was my Higher Power getting even with me for laughing at them!

Yup! I have a warped sense of humor.  It has gotten me this far and I think I will keep it.  My sponsor taught me to laugh at myself years ago because I am pretty silly sometimes.  Even when things seemed to be horrific, I can look back and see how warped my thinking and reactions were, and the lesson I was supposed to be learning. 

If you are beating yourself up emotionally for your past, please seek help. It can be individually with a professional or in some kind of group to help you work through the issues that make you continually self-flagellate and sabotage yourself. 

Working the 12 Steps has worked very well for me. I work on one every month.  I start the year with Step 1 in January and go through the months and Steps together until Step 12 in December.  My sponsor taught me to do that because I am like an onion.  The layers come off as I am able to deal with those emotions and learn those lessons.  I screw up every year and working the steps helps me stay in touch with HP.  Besides, the Big Book tells me that more will be revealed.

That mind masturbation is hard to stop once we get in the habit because we get some kind of relief from telling ourselves that we deserve to be unhappy. We believe ‘’fill in the blank’ because somewhere along the way we were taught that is true. 

There is a very dangerous aspect about self-defeating messages. If I tell myself that I am not worthy long enough, I will start drinking and drugging again because I will believe that I am not worthy of anything better. 

You and I can give ourselves permission to be happy. We are the only one, in the long run, that we will believe anyway.

My apartment is sprayed for bugs every few weeks. Normally I am not bothered by those pests, but a while back I saw a rather large bug crawling on a counter and then it went into a hole.  I became angry when this happened several more times. 

Finally I was holding an almost empty clear glass tea cup in my hand when the little bugger teased me again. I sat the tea cup on top of it. 

I could see through the tea and glass that I had captured it. I decided to leave the cup on it with the hope that it would die by morning.

I got up the next morning and looked through the tea and glass. The bug was still there.  Knowing how fast some of them can move, I checked to see if it was dead by putting my finger close to one side of the bottom of the cup.  Nope!  The bug moved to the other side.  It was still alive. 

Now I had a moral dilemma. I personally have come to believe that we are all souls and I am having a human experience.  Therefore, it is not my place to kill anything. 

I made a cup of tea and smoked several cigarettes for the next ninety minutes trying to figure out what I was going to do. I knew the bug was being tortured sitting under the cup and that was not right to do to another soul.  I could call a friend and fake that I was scared of bugs so they would kill it, but that would be a lie so that was out.

My mentor, Dr. Dean, had shown me during class one day that I had been taught the wrong things when I grew up. You see, I was raised on a farm and everything was killed that was problematic.  This included not only insects and mice, but raccoons that got into the sweet corn.  However, snakes were to be left alone because they ate the rodents that devoured our stored grain.

The weather was warm that morning in class and we had the windows open to let in fresh air, but several wasps had also entered. Most of the female students, and quite a few of the males were screaming.  I had killed one of the wasps and was after the next one when Dr. Dean used a voice like dad when it was imperative that I stop whatever I was doing, “Bonnie!”

He walked in front of me, opened the window a bit farther and waved his hand to guide the wasp back outside. He turned around and looked at me as if he was disappointed in me.  It has been hard for me to kill anything since then.

Okay, so what was I going to do with that damned bug? Its only crime was walking into my apartment and not being fast enough to get back in the hole.  If I turned it loose, it was going to make more bugs to infest my apartment.  Was it my place to kill it?  Finally, I grabbed it with a tissue and flushed it down the sink with hot water.

I felt horrible. I smudged and played my drum for the bug.

Okay, it was a few months later. I was sitting in my recliner minding my own business when I heard scratching.  At first I thought it was Hope, but she was no where around.  I finally figured out that it was a mouse in the plastic bag I had just put in my waste basket next to my recliner. 

I grabbed the bag and tied a knot in the top. I grabbed my walker, unplugged the portable oxygen concentrator with the other hand, put it in my walker and went into the hall.  I haven’t moved that fast in years.

All went well. I got the sack and mouse thrown into the dumpster, but I absolutely could not get my breath.  I realized that I had forgotten my emergency inhalers.  I had no choice, I had to get back to my apartment if I wanted to live.  I had to sit down twice on my walker to catch my breath.

I was weak when I dropped into my recliner and grabbed my inhaler. It took a few minutes to start breathing normal again, but I am pretty sure that mouse was very happy when it chewed its way out of the sack and found all of that garbage to eat.

Some things cannot be tolerated! Over ninety percent of female prisoners were abused as children and most are diagnosed with some type of mental health and/or chemical dependency issues.  They, like me, need permission to admit their pain.  Dr. Dean was the first person that ever told me when I was in my forties, “Bonnie, I’m sorry that happened to you.  It was not your fault.”

It takes much work to free oneself from self-loathing and self-destructive behaviors. Simply warehousing these girls and women for extended periods and then releasing them without treatment for the atrocities they have endured is not only cruel, it perpetuates the revolving door of recidivism. 

They leave prison still broken and lost. Taxpayers end up paying to warehouse them again and again, and each new charge buries them in more despair.

Writing this book is pretty much my last big act of defiance against the steel ceiling. My mentors all told me to help others when I tried to thank them for helping me.  Now I am handing you that baton.  If you have learned anything from me in this book, please help those still sitting in the chair we once occupied.

You can make a difference in those people’s lives. You can start posting on social and professional web discussions.  You can start your own blog.  You can write your own books, journal and newspaper articles.  You can tell stories about you, your family members, friends and the clients you have worked with.  Look what happened when individuals used Facebook to call for an uprising in Egypt.  They overthrew the government in 2011.

While you are composing, please write about when kidnapped victims are rescued. They are given a decompression period and counseling to recover from their feelings of complete powerlessness and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  They are not thrust right back into public life.  That is what we need to do for the girls and women who are locked up now.  We need to provide a safe place for them to transition….sometimes that just means someone to listen to them.

Please remind your readers that released prisoners have been trained to be robots and follow the prison rules when they were locked up. That did nothing to teach them how to make positive choices when they are released.

I was a high-maintenance prisoner. Prison taught me to be sneaky.  I broke every rule I could get away with, some that I didn’t get away. 

I tried to act like the robot they wanted me to be, but that is not who I have ever been. Today I would have been put in isolation and spent years there for my continual subversive behaviors.

Going directly from prison into society is an emotional whiplash. Especially if you have a parole or probation officer that is insisting you do things like be responsible, keep appointments, get and keep a job, etc.  I probably would not have gone to prison in the first place if I knew how to do those things.

There are five main reasons that I was able to turn my life around. (1) I was very lucky that I was not caught in the first six to seven years after I got out, but I also have to say that I would not wish on my worst enemy the things I put myself through during that time.

(2) My father provided resources to keep me off of the streets most of the time and loaned me the money to start my custom drapery business in my home town, Adel, Iowa.

(3) I was able to isolate myself in my basement listening to self-help tapes for ten years while I tried to heal from my past and make custom window treatments for the customers who helped socialize me.

 (4) It was a blessing that I finally tried Alcoholics Anonymous.  I worked the 12-Steps to keep me sober and straight so I did not break the laws again.  I found people there who had lived through similar circumstances.  They told me what they had done to heal and live better lives so I tried to follow their suggestions.  It has worked for over thirty five years now so I think I will keep doing it.

(5) I found mentors in college who told me that I did not have to live down to mom’s expectations of me. They said they were her issues and I did not have to live according to her lies.  They allowed me to see myself through their eyes and live up to their expectations of me.

The college classes I attended helped me understand that the pedophile’s actions toward me, when I was six to nine, had thrust me and mom on to a path of mutual destruction that continued for me after she died.

He may not have killed and buried me in a shallow grave, but he certainly suffocated that innocent little soul that had been full of happiness, joy and wonder. My nightmares are still just as terrifying and painful as they were almost seventy years ago.

Please write about the need to prosecute the customers for incest and other sexual victims. There will always be people making money from selling and/or trading our most vulnerable population as long as there is a market.

Additionally, I believe the family and friends who know enough to keep their own children away from a pedophile, but stay silent and allow that person to have access to other people’s children should be put on the sex abuse list with the pedophile. They are co-responsible for any future atrocities.

Like the song says, “I took the blows and did it my way.”