I found myself in conversation with my work companions on the way back from lunch.
I am the type to wear my past on the front of my shirt for the world to ask about, so it isn't uncommon for me to bring things up when speaking to others and my lack of... let's say preservation... often has me creating a rather uncomfortable atmosphere for those that may find themselves among the typhoon of words that often erupt from me.
Today, in particular, my anxiety brain wandered right into the thick of it. As it were, we happened by some "low-income" apartments. This lead the conversation toward their support of government welfare... cue word vomit.
It went a bit like this... I was adopted into the home of two functioning addicts. My dad was a truck driver and my mom worked as an assistant at a large corporation. Somewhere around my second year, things went down the rabbit hole and after a series of foster homes, CPS intervention, and rehab programs for my parents, I found myself with my maternal grandparents at 7. It wasn't until my grandma passed away when I was thirteen, that my mom moved from illegal drug use to prescription medication abuse. She had remarried and the two lived the welfare life, with several children and step children along for the ride, including me. I'll paint the picture, neither worked and received maximum "disability" payments from the government. Life revolved around prescription narcotics handed out by multiple low budget, Medicaid doctors around the city. Food Stamps came in maximum amounts because children were claimed that didn't live with us, but were in state custody, because these organizations didn't speak to each other, benefits weren't questioned. Food was free, medication was free, housing was free, medical care was free. Medications took on a very "Blue Bell-esque" function... they ate all they could and sold the rest. Much to the popular opinion's dismay, this has motivated me to a fierce hate for government dependent citizens. Certainly, I hold an empathy for children in these circumstances and the elderly and truly disabled, as I am, after all, a human being.
The end of this very thorough, though shocking rant, was met with wide, blinking stares and unhinged jaws. The moral here is that most people base their opinions on things solely on their own personal experiences. We are experiencing a time where people often shout out their well-formulated opinions on things based on never having any firsthand experience with THE THING. When you are out there, agreeing or disagreeing, make sure you are taking a stand for something that directly touches you... and if it doesn't and you feel passionately about the topic, invest yourself in becoming intimately related to the topic. This may mean you volunteer, sacrifice your time, your home, your finances, but this is the way to truly build an belief that is worthwhile.
I am the type to wear my past on the front of my shirt for the world to ask about, so it isn't uncommon for me to bring things up when speaking to others and my lack of... let's say preservation... often has me creating a rather uncomfortable atmosphere for those that may find themselves among the typhoon of words that often erupt from me.
Today, in particular, my anxiety brain wandered right into the thick of it. As it were, we happened by some "low-income" apartments. This lead the conversation toward their support of government welfare... cue word vomit.
It went a bit like this... I was adopted into the home of two functioning addicts. My dad was a truck driver and my mom worked as an assistant at a large corporation. Somewhere around my second year, things went down the rabbit hole and after a series of foster homes, CPS intervention, and rehab programs for my parents, I found myself with my maternal grandparents at 7. It wasn't until my grandma passed away when I was thirteen, that my mom moved from illegal drug use to prescription medication abuse. She had remarried and the two lived the welfare life, with several children and step children along for the ride, including me. I'll paint the picture, neither worked and received maximum "disability" payments from the government. Life revolved around prescription narcotics handed out by multiple low budget, Medicaid doctors around the city. Food Stamps came in maximum amounts because children were claimed that didn't live with us, but were in state custody, because these organizations didn't speak to each other, benefits weren't questioned. Food was free, medication was free, housing was free, medical care was free. Medications took on a very "Blue Bell-esque" function... they ate all they could and sold the rest. Much to the popular opinion's dismay, this has motivated me to a fierce hate for government dependent citizens. Certainly, I hold an empathy for children in these circumstances and the elderly and truly disabled, as I am, after all, a human being.
The end of this very thorough, though shocking rant, was met with wide, blinking stares and unhinged jaws. The moral here is that most people base their opinions on things solely on their own personal experiences. We are experiencing a time where people often shout out their well-formulated opinions on things based on never having any firsthand experience with THE THING. When you are out there, agreeing or disagreeing, make sure you are taking a stand for something that directly touches you... and if it doesn't and you feel passionately about the topic, invest yourself in becoming intimately related to the topic. This may mean you volunteer, sacrifice your time, your home, your finances, but this is the way to truly build an belief that is worthwhile.
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