Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

I’ve been emotionally struggling recently, a combination of post-holiday ennui with a reflection on my current situation. Also, I miss my nephews.

One reality I cannot avoid is that I am not self-sufficient. I haven’t had to think about myself as unit of independent sufficiency for 20+ years. Now I’m caught in the fallout of divorce proceedings, indeterminate precedents on marriage equality, and a court system that moves at glacial pacing. Plus, I have this larger lawsuit in federal district court on related issues. I’ve resigned myself to just having to wait. Sort of. Dependent or not?

Self-sufficiency is not the same as self-reliant. I am rather good at self-reliance. I work very hard with the resources at hand. I have friends and supporters who understand my predicament, offering support where they can. Being in my home of 20 years with my cats is not something I will ever take for granted.

And I ask for help.

If life has taught me anything, it is that the people who are naturally supposed to do right by you are often the ones who can’t or won’t. Their own travails and tribulations might get in the way, as well as their pain and unprocessed trauma. Sometimes their strings are tied up by puppeteers who sever that natural obligation for their own gain. It doesn’t actually matter why, it simply matters that they aren’t showing up for what they should do by birthright or vow or personal pledge of honor. And I cannot control them, either now or in my younger days when I was dependent on them.

And I ask for help.

Asking isn’t terrible. We all need help. I have learned from my GoFundMe that I have hundreds of people who care enough to help, a ‘living reminder’ I can visit when I feel adrift.

I am still in a position to help others, an important thing for me. Growing the Dr. John P. Ruffing VMD Pet Food Pantry is one example. Winning statewide and national honors for my advocacy work along with two brilliant profiles in local and national media is further evidence when I feel down about this. I accomplished those things during some difficult times when I was incredibly dependent.

But, still … the seeming perpetual nature of asking is exhausting. I am not permitted to use the car I drove for seven years. I cannot purchase my own car. This has been a one car household for five years or so. I gave my car to a artist/derby driver several years ago. It went out in a literal blaze of glory. The sculpture he created from the hood is in the backyard, a fitting final tribute to my lovely CRV. But not one that actually functions as a car.

Life is a beautiful ride

I need transportation. Ride shares and public transit (on my own) are not options for me due to trauma I sustained in 2023. I enrolled in Zipcar, but they closed the nearest location so it is no longer useful and it is definitely expensive. I bought an electric trike, but can’t use that until spring and it has limited range.

Last week, I tried to order groceries from three different Giant Eagle locations and ended up sobbing as my shopper kept adding to the list of items they did not have in stock. Turns out that I was sick last week so my sobbing was probably a bit unwarranted, but my need for groceries even more dire. I’m willing to pay the shopping fee, the delivery fee, the tips – just let me get some orange juice and yogurt.

Friends are not ATM machines, friendships are not transactions

Among the sticky wickets are the moments when someone offers a support, a ride, a gift, whatever and then doesn’t revisit it. Did they forget? Should I remind them? What if I do so and they still say nothing? I end up stuck in this nofolx land between having a need met and worrying endlessly that I will be relegated to the category of grubby leech who sees her friends as ATM machines.

Even the best of intentions can lead to that truly awful moment when someone throws what ‘they did for you’ in your face because they are struggling or hurting or lashing out or a million things that have nothing in fact to do with their kindness to you.

Those throwaway comments are seared into the synapses of people on the receiving end. Helping someone becomes transactional if we must factor in that amount in future encounters. How much do I owe for a few rides? a donation? a gift? Maybe that’s not true of everyone, but for survivors of childhood sexual violence – transactional is a language we understand.

It is also horrifying that someone might think I’ve forgotten their generosity and kindness, that I take it for granted or see them only as a resources, not a person. While I get that it might seem that way in any given moment, especially if I am under a higher level of stress, where is the grace? What about all the good I’ve done, the awards, the honors, the praise, the impact, the lives changed? It doesn’t make me better than anyone else, but by these rules – it should count, right? London rules, Moscow rules?

And I ask for help, again.

I’ve been to hell and stuck in an outer circle for nearly 18 months. There’s a lot of reasons for me to feel abandoned – I HAVE BEEN ABANDONED – by friends, family, systems, governments, etc.

I have a litany of things I need help with. Picking up prescriptions, doctor’s appointments, groceries. Events and shows I’d like to attend for my blog. Managing donations for Pittsburgh LGBTQ Charities. Carrying heavy items up or downstairs. Going to visit my parents’ grave.

I need help with food. I need help with supporting my blog expenses.

I do have people who help me. It is not a good idea to get overly reliant on one or two people, because life happens. Spending time with different folx is healthy, whether that’s lunch or a trip to Rite-Aid.

That’s where the perpetual ask comes into play. And it can be grinding.

Prescriptions for example. I have eight daily meds for various things plus a few OTC. If I don’t get my allergy meds picked up, I can be okay for a day or two. That is not the case with other medications. But not everything is on the same schedule so I typically need a ride to the pharmacy 2-3 times a month.

What I don’t need is unsolicited advice on how to manage my medications so I can reduce my trips. I don’t need to explain my medications or my finances or other reasons why they are spread out. I’m 54, not a child. I already spend an inordinate amount of time managing medications – monitoring side effects, tracking refills, adjusting as necessary, and dealing with the insurance overlords who give me no grace when it comes to a refill.

Is it better to ask for permission or beg for forgiveness?

Sometimes I’ll ‘add on’ a task when I’m already en route. That’s a crappy thing to do. An act of desperation.

Money is a big deal. I don’t have a lot of money, not much at all. My wealth is never going to be replenished. And my final settlements could be years away. While I’m grateful the electric and gas are paid, I feel keenly the loss of the bounce of two incomes cojoined to support a family versus two people splitting expenses.

Actually, I very much miss the family part. But I can’t control that.

For whom the ask tolls

Much of this is steeped in my childhood experiences when I needed help because I was being abused, immersed in violence, neglected, and painfully aware that no matter who I asked, help was not coming. Falling back into that space again at this point in life feels both inevitable and soul-destroying. Being so dependent for a simple task brings that to mind over and over.

I make no secret of the abuses and other terrors of my childhood – family, school, church, community, etc. I am working hard every single week to process and manage my trauma while also keeping abreast of my other mental health symptoms.

My grandmonster programmed me to ignore my own needs and instincts, to negate them so I could meet his needs. He isolated me from other people. He lavished me with promises and taught me to crave his approval, seek his favor. Unlearning this is hard, especially when that pattern has repeated itself in other relationships. Diligent work in therapy has opened my eyes to the multiple ways I recreated this dynamic and fell back on the tools of a damaged child desperate to get my needs met by my ‘savior.’ Codependency, low self-esteem, difficulty protecting my boundaries, being afraid of real intimacy (or dependency) are hallmarks of adult children from many traumas – addiction, abuse, violence, neglect, abandonment, etc.

Separating my own unhealthy patterns as an adult child from my genuine needs as an adult in a tough situation isn’t so clearcut, often because most of us are traumatized, most of us are not aware of it or getting support, so we wander through the world with bits and pieces of our trauma dripping all over relationships, communication. This causes us to be re traumatized. We are hurt people.

The best way you can help me is to offer, to ask “how can I help right now?” rather than wait for me to ask. Being uncomfortable asking is why I don’t yet have my flu shot or my COVID booster. It is why my trike didn’t get put into the house for the winter.

One ride to the grocery store does not a lifetime obligation create. But if you really want to help me, please consider something consistent. I grew up in a feast or famine lifestyle thanks to addiction. It is a dark road. Please don’t ask me to accompany you there. It is okay if a support ends or morphs or changes, but it is very hard if you do not communicate with me because I can only take you at face value – not read between the lines.

None of this is fair. Not to me, not to you, not the innocents involved. With your help, I got myself home after six months of being homeless. I saved my blog. I have a routine. I have a strong therapy team. I have good lawyers. My cats are okay. I think very few people expected me to rebound like this. Imagine what else I might accomplish? Or at least how well I can handle whatever comes next.

In conclusion

I still need a lot of help. But I need to be a fully fleshed out human being receiving help, not a waif accepting alms or some other trope. I can handle a ‘no’ or a ‘not right now’ response because I am an adult working to process my trauma. But clearly I have to make better choices.

And because I have written many posts like this over the years, I want to say – if you think I’m speaking directly to you, that I’m responding to one specific incident with a whole blog post that took me hours to compose, please please take a breath and step back. That’s a classic trauma response called personalization. It is possibly going to happen more often in future days.

So how can I help?

My main needs are rides, social contact, and maybe a casserole. And my GoFundMe. Truth be told, I’d just like you to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has to ask you for something and wiggle your toes. Comfortable?