Food Bank

(Those of you who don't like long posts should skip this one.)

Roughly 75 of us showed up at the food bank last night, some with children in tow, so maybe there were 85 of us squeezed into a room big enough for 40, at most. We ranged in age from an infant only a few months old to an old woman in her 80s. A few of the people were migrant workers, very few. Most of us were Caucasian. Most of us were unemployed, or underemployed. A few of us smelled like we had just crawled out of a vat of cheap whiskey. (The rest of us tried not to notice, or we stepped outside to escape the odors – and the noise.) No matter our differences, we all were there because we needed food, because we couldn’t supply that for ourselves, because we all were hungry.

A couple of times, I thought of leaving because I was ashamed to be there. After all, I have a job. Yes, it is part-time and does not provide all the income I need – not all I want, mind you, just what I need to survive. But, I have a job. I think one-third of us in the room have jobs, but those jobs aren't providing what we need to adequately feed ourselves and our families. I also have a home. It is falling apart faster than I can repair it, and I can’t heat it adequately, but I’m not living in shelters, or worse (and like a few people in the room), trying to survive out on the streets. How could I sit there, waiting for my number to be called to fill a shopping cart, when so many others sitting around me have it so much worse? I felt like a whiny-ass fraud. But I stayed. I needed the food the church was giving out more than I needed my dignity at that point.

The first time I went to the food bank, I arrived in time for The Sermon. I listened to the fellowship pastor talk about Papa God’s love for all his children and Big Brother Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice so that we could beat death. All around me, people sat with downcast eyes, looks of shame or embarrassment on their faces. One man twisted his cap in his hands, as if trying to wring Poverty’s neck, anything to make the woman stop talking about how we were sinners and if we turned to Papa God and our Big Brother Jesus everything would be forgiven and we would see the Kingdom of Heaven. What does that have to do with the immediate need of finding something to eat? Does that mean that if we weren't sinners we wouldn't be at the food bank, hat in hand, so to speak, asking to be fed? If I'd had a cap, I'd have been wringing it to pieces, too.

After I registered for the food bank, I was taken to a back room to be interviewed about my employment status, my income, my bills each month, how many were in my family, and whether I was a Christian. I said no, I am a Quaker. Thank heavens, the Pastor Woman thought I was joking and laughed. I told my daughter later that had I known I would be asked about my relationship with BBJ in order to be allowed to receive food, I would have worn saffron robes and danced the Krishna for Pastor Woman when she got to that part of the process. (No offense to any religious group, belief or creed intended.)

Last night was my second visit to the food bank, and I got there about half an hour after the doors opened, to avoid The Sermon. I arrived late enough to be near the end of the line, and the need was so great this week and there were more families with young children needing help, that the shelves were nearing empty by the time my number was called. That’s the trade-off, I guess. But, the good thing is that the young families, who have many mouths to feed, were served well, as it should be.

Still, there was enough for all of us. Thank you, Papa God, for the generosity and compassion of the people in this church.

Now, let’s talk about this economy, PG. What can You do to fix this mess? And could you visit a little hard times on your child, Newt Gingrich? I think he could do with some compassion and a whole helluva lot of humility.

After the Storm

Stormy Weather

I have battled depression most of my life, and have been caught up in anxiety attacks more times than I want to remember. This latest round was triggered by a couple of things (I think; could be wrong): my daughter's situation, and signing divorce settlement papers.

I don't understand the mechanics of depression/anxiety disorder. While I can't speak to what happens in the brain that causes these bouts, I can tell you how it feels to be in one of them. It's like being in a hurricane.

In September, 1965, Hurricane Betsy hit New Orleans with winds of 125+ MPH. We were living in the Florida Avenue Housing Project at the time, in a second floor apartment. The FAHP is in the infamous (because of Katrina) Ninth Ward, near the Industrial Canal. That section of the city was in the direct path of the storm. In fact, the eye passed overhead. But, the story of Betsy and my family is for some other time. I bring her up because that experience is how I know what it's like to be smack dab in the center of a hurricane, and why being in one is such a good metaphor for the depression/anxiety attack I just climbed out from under.

It starts with a vague discomfort, not anything you can put your finger on really. Maybe it's a change in the brain's chemistry, its barometric pressure, so to speak. If not addressed right away, or if other stressors are added to the heap, the decline continues, becomes more uncomfortable, increasing a sense of uneasiness you can't quite shake, though it hasn't overtaken joy and fun just yet. You can still function fairly normally, but there is a growing dark cloud just over the horizon of consciousness: menacing, foreboding, stalking.

The first winds appear, blowing harder than normal breezes. Anxiety creeps into the picture. "Hey, this isn't right. You can stop this anytime now, God, okay?" You note that you are now officially worried, though you still might not be able to say why, exactly.

The winds become howlers, seriously different from gentle breezes. You notice you are becoming afraid, and decide to go inside and close all the windows, pull the drapes. "This will pass soon," you tell yourself, having completely forgotten other episodes, other storms which didn't pass quickly. Going through this storm is like going through one for the first time, if you don't take protective measures to head off the worst of it, or find better shelter to wait it out.

The first wave of screaming winds and horizontal, needle-sharp raindrops hits your shelter like a mega-ton sledge hammer. The building shakes and shudders, your spirit quakes in fear. Anxiety rises like floodwaters, creeping ever higher, almost out of control.

The storm knocks out electrical power and you are thrown into darkness. You've forgotten the flashlight, can't find it quickly, then realize you have no batteries to replace the ones that have died. Outside, the winds sound like you are standing at the rear of a jet engine running at top speed. You can't hear anyone else's voice, and your own thoughts are drowned out by the noise. You think you might die. You feel alone, despite being in a roomful of other people - friends, family, neighbors - who are experiencing the same storm as you. Survival fears place their frigid hands on your body and you are on the verge of emotional, physical collapse.

You scream at God; "What the fuck, Man?!" And immediately feel guilty for saying such a thing, but that's the least of your worries.

You realize, in the darkness, amid the Winds from Hell, that you have reached your breaking point. You begin to think there is no justifiable reason to continue struggling. The Unthinkable rears its head like the water moccasin that floated in on the rising floodwaters, about to strike.

Fortunately, at that almost-irrevocable moment of desperation, the eye of the storm arrives, and you go outside on your balcony for a breath of fresh air. It is still dark out, but when the clouds break for a few seconds, revealing a near-full moon, you can see just how high the waters have risen. You can hear the screams of neighbors on their rooftops, calling out to God, to anyone, for help. "Save me, save us," they yell. "Over here! We're over here! Please come save us!"

The eye passes and the storm resumes. You retreat back into your darkness, with the pleas of your neighbors louder in your mind, now, than the noise from the Winds of Hell. Their cries become your cry. "Please hear me. I am here. I am afraid. Help me."

Someone hears you. Maybe it is the Universe, maybe it is God, maybe it is the stronger Self that resides within your soul, your spirit. Who knows? Who cares?! Someone has thrown you a rope, given you fresh batteries for your torch.

Although the storm is still with you, the Winds of Hell are no longer the only sound you hear. Hope, at first a faint whisper, becomes the reassuring Voice of Reason, growing louder with every passing hour. You realize, "Hey! I'm still here!" (A big hug and thank you to Mary Tuel for that enlightening mantra/prayer.)

Daylight has banished the Darkness. Hope and Determination have kicked Fear and Desperation down the dungeon steps, back where they belong. By God! it feels good to be alive, to be out of the Storm of Despair.

Now is the time to find all my survival tools and get to work cleaning up the debris, making my shelter stronger for when the next storm comes.

Thank you, everyone, for the ropes you tossed me, the help and encouragement you have provided. I won't ever forget what you've done to help me weather this hurricane.

As blog-friend Joe Spado says, "Peace be with you."

(c) 2009 Martha McLemore