Imaginative heart Prt3

Going through my history has helped me realize something. Its really easy to see how God never put me through anything I could not handle. Even though it may have seemed like I was alone at times I still had my wonderland. I had my Tulpas to talk to when I needed. As a matter of fact, God feels the closest to me when it is quiet, and I am in my wonder land.

I hope I reach someone with this series. I am pretty sure this is not how your supposed to mend bridges. I am doing this because I refuse to believe that I am the only one. I can’t be the only one who has been written out to be a crazy person for imagination.

 

Fast forward several years

I failed college and spent three years at a sheltered work shop. Yes, you heard me right. I failed college because of my anxiety and depression. I did not know how to ask for help during that time. I did not have a friend who would sit down and ask what I was struggling with. I am sure I had my parents and those moments when I did talk, but I still failed. At this time, I did not know how to talk to people about my problems.

I was working at a sheltered workshop because I was on disability for autism and a history of a TBI. My parents tell me that it showed in a brain scan as a kid. The spot that it affected is… Can you guess? It affected my ability to communicate clearly. It happened when I was a baby and I was adopted. I also had a few accidents as a child. It could have been any number of things that had caused it.

The workshop was supposed to be just a break from school. I needed time to get myself back together so, I could concentrate on classes when I got back in. It turned out to longer than I expected. Three years had passed, and it was about this time that I had accepted my life as it was. It was simple, but God had more for me than what I was being given.

I made really good friends at the workshop and the pay was just enough to have a life. I was also on supplementary income due to my disability and my work at the workshop involved putting things together. It had to be really simple, so enough people with disabilities could do them. It was things like putting key fobs on key rings, stickers on pamphlets, and even folding plastic bags. When we ran out of work we were to toss rings into a plastic tray.

When ever I was not working I was sewing, playing an instrument, or some other type of craft. I really wanted to build a guitar and I even made scale models. I read wood working books and done small scale wood carvings. My parents lived on a farm not too far from where I lived in town. They raised beef cattle from time to time and done small-scale gardening during the summers.

Life was simple, but I hated going to work when there was nothing to do. I was not even allowed to write except on breaks. We had two fifteen-minute breaks and we had a half hour lunch. There was a couple of months where they tried giving us the break room when we had no work. We were paid nothing during those times though. When we tossed key rings, we were making about a dollar an hour. This was not a job you could get into without having some sort of disability.

I developed my book into a solid story during this time. I had long conversations with my Tulpas as well. It was frowned upon if you talked too much. Depending on who you sat by it may not have been tolerated at all. I learned how to stretch my limits with my imagination. There were times when we would have no work to do except toss key rings for days. Our time spent in the work shop was around eight hours a day. That was a little more than seven hours of work time if you do the math.

I was at my parent’s house one-week end and my Dad was going into work. He was not really too happy about it. I said, “at least you’re not tossing key rings all day.” He made a weird wave to my mother and she nodded. I don’t remember what I was doing, but I remember it crossing my mind that something interesting was going to happen.

I knew I failed college and I promised myself if I had another chance I would not let it fall through like it had in the past. I also knew that I was stuck because I literally did not have any options in the town I was in. I had no transportation and I walked most of the time. Every time I went to the grocery store I would carry home the food I bought. I remember having red lines in my hands when ever I got back to my apartment from grocery shopping. My parents helped with shopping when they could, but there was no public transportation.

One day my mother cornered me and told me about a place that assisted those with my disability. It was a little more than an hour of a drive but, they have public transportation. Best part was my parents paid for me to get lessons on building a guitar from a local luthier (string instrument builder). I really did not have the words at that moment. I was kind of in disbelief. Sure, there was associations for the disabled, but I did not have a license and no job other than the sheltered workshop.

After going to see a guest speaker from the place, I was beginning to realize that this might be possible. I was asked what I wanted as a career and I said that I was open to work at a grocery store. I really did not know if I would be attending college.

 

End note: Sorry for not posting at all last week I was dealing with two difficult class assignments. I will be back on track for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. for now on.

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