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HD 485 A

In this reflective study, I will describe and explore two significant experiences regarding
diversity which affected my development. One occurred in late adolescence, the other in
adulthood. Following that will be my developmental theory on how these experiences impacted
my life.
-Adolescence: My late adolescence was tumultuous. At seventeen years old, I felt
rebellious, skeptical and restless. I had become distrustful of my family and felt no desire to be
close to them. The only person I could rely on was my boyfriend and we were inseparable. I
moved from Los Angeles to Boston, Massachusetts with him, upon his acceptance to a
prestigious art school.
He rented a tiny studio apartment just prior to my arrival, and I was there within weeks.
We quickly made new friends and were delighted with our view of the famous CITGO sign over
Fenway Park Stadium. I felt exhilarated by all of these changes, and the promise of our new
beginning. Our hopes were quickly tarnished when we started to discover the miserable living
conditions in our one-hundred and twenty year old apartment building. We had to relocate.
A real estate agent wooed us with a beautiful, affordable apartment across town.
The neighborhood looked a little dangerous, but her assurance that the area was "being gentrified
and is just fine" offered false comfort. We naively believed her and hastily moved.
The promise of gentrification in this impoverished neighborhood was pure fiction.
Upon nightfall, medical professionals from the nearby hospital vanished and were replaced by
workers of a different trade: gangsters, prostitutes and drug dealers. The staccato echoes of
gunshots were commonplace. The crime rate was alarming, but greater problems would soon
arise. I felt duped.

Neither of us evaluated people by race or creed, so being essentially the

only non-African-Americans in a large radius seemed irrelevant to us. My boyfriend and I were
very culturally diverse and thus open minded. Racial, cultural, and religious differences were
complete non-issues. We abruptly learned that our attitude was not reciprocated.
Palpable hostility materialized in the form of hateful comments, harassment and
hard stares. We were unabashedly unwelcomed. I felt tense and unsafe. I felt extremely ill at
ease. With a signed lease and no money left, we were obligated to stay. Every day, I felt
completely trapped.
I felt disheartened when friends experienced the same animosity and alienation. I
understood when they all requested that for future visits, we come to them.
One night, after one of these visits, I returned home alone. Noticing a lot of people
outside that night, I erroneously felt reasonably safe. Foolishly, I gave in to my impulse to stop
and use the payphone at the end of my street.
Dialing the phone, I felt horrified to suddenly find myself in the grip of an
astonishingly powerful chokehold. I heard a piercing, animalistic shriek, as the forceful man
behind me tightened his grip around my throat. He threatened to kill me, unless I shut up. Until
that second, I had not recognized that I had been the source of that primal, bloodcurdling scream.
I felt disembodied by my own panic and the terror of that moment. I felt like a trapped animal.
Despite my vigorous struggle against him, no one on the street did anything to
help me. I felt utterly powerless, being dragged backward by my neck, my feet flailing. My last
memory was being struck in the left temple with a steel bar.
I started to regain consciousness, on the ground of a dark, dirt alley. Hardly
breathing, I dared not move. Barely opening my eyes, I finally saw the man who had assaulted
me: an African-American man in a baseball cap.

I observed stealthily and with great caution, as he tore through my


belongings. I pondered this total senselessness-I had no more than three dollars in my purse. I
noticed how casual and unrushed he was. It dawned on me that he must have believed that he
had already succeeded in killing me. Indeed, I felt nearly dead.
Instinctively and with no other alternative, I continued playing
possum. I felt eerily calm and disassociated from the situation. I was completely motionless,
corpselike. I wondered how and when this would end, until he tore at my clothes and raped me. I
knew that he would definitely kill me if I fought. I had already been severely choked and beaten,
and I could do absolutely nothing to stop him. I felt disbelief and profound repulsion. I felt
completely dehumanized. My only hope that he would leave, and eventually he did.
Shock started to sink in, but scared to death that he would return, I
scrambled to get out of that alley. He had taken a ring that my boyfriend had made for me, and
my mothers wedding ring. He took my dignity and control, and robbed me of my very
sentimental belongings. I felt infuriated.
I found the phone booth where this nightmare had begun.
Panicked and suffering from head trauma, I could not remember how to dial 911.
A Latino man appeared from nowhere. Seeing how frantic I was,
he asked if I was alright. I felt threatened, and I unleashed an uncontrollable verbal rage upon
him. Obviously, something terrible had happened. He stayed back, as I had demanded, and was
very calm. I did not realize at the time, that he was protecting me. He told me he would stay
nearby until the police arrived. He told them that he had seen an African-American man in a
baseball cap running down an alleyway. I was taken to the hospital, and remarkably, the thieving
rapist was captured.

At the hospital, the police asked me to identify the man they had in

custody. I felt such incendiary anger that I agreed without hesitation. He was clad in a baseball
cap and covered in alleyway dirt. He stood before me, squirming and mumbling that he had done
nothing wrong.

His eyes were cast downward in what appeared to be shame. Maybe it was

just the shock of learning that I was not dead, after all. Whos powerless now? I thought.
Fiercely incensed by his claims of innocence, I spoke directly to
him. I challenged him to look me in the eyes, instead of staring at the floor. He could not meet
my intense, hateful gaze. I let him know what a pathetic coward he was, and I stared him down
until he was taken away.

The doctors and police were shocked by my fearless

demeanor, and I do not know where I found the strength to conduct myself in that way. I felt
redeemed. I had reclaimed my power. I was not his victim.
He served over twelve years in prison, and was
subsequently transferred to a lock-down psychiatric ward, for violent sex offenders. He was
given an open-ended, indefinite sentence. I felt powerful, by sending him to prison, and then
another lock-down facility. I felt comfort in knowing no other women would be attacked by this
disturbed individual. I felt grateful to law enforcement, and to the man who assisted in the
capture of this violent criminal.

I learned that for some people, lying

in order to make money is more important than the safety of others. I learned that racial prejudice
casts a terrible element of hate amongst those who practice it. I learned that when people believe
that members of one race are less valuable than those of a different race, they dehumanize each
other. Such indifference can escalate to a level that one may not care whether the dissimilar
person may live or die. I learned that in a life- threatening situation, disassociating and letting
another horrible crime occur in order to survive the entire situation, may increase chances of
survival. I learned that some people are brave and empathetic enough to come to a victim's aid

and report crime to the police. I learned that the raging anger which results from a rape, can
transform to courage. I learned that a woman who is raped finds redemption and power in
reporting the rape and sending the criminal to prison. I learned that when a woman participates in
the incarceration of a rapist, she feels comfort in knowing that no other women will endure the
same experience. I learned that law enforcement really is there to protect people, and solve
criminal cases.

-Adulthood: As an adult, I was

diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. I did not feel terribly shocked. Actually, I felt partly relieved. It
provided the missing piece to the jumbled puzzle that my emotional life had been for years. The
stigma of mental illness did not disturb me too deeply or for too long. I had known since
childhood that certain behaviors-both by my own and from others in my family-were far outside
the realm of "normal".

Finding an effective

medication that I could tolerate took years and the side effects were horrendous. The doctor
placed me on permanent disability. I felt relieved.

Disability

status meant that I was on government medical insurance, both Medicare and Medi-Cal, though I
was nowhere near senior citizen status. Sometimes upon seeing a new doctor for a non-mental
health issue, they would question it. "Medi-Medi? Aren't you a little young for Medicare?" they
would ask, in an accusatory tone.

Explaining that I was

on disability was frequently met with a smirk or an eye roll-even from fully grown medical
professionals. Otherwise, an incredulous and invasive, "what for?" was routine.
I felt pressured, as
though I needed to defend myself against this attack of righteous questioning of my character. I
have been told countless times that I dont look disabled. I felt as though my honesty was
being questioned. I felt deficient. I felt judged. I felt exasperated and as though I wasted

tremendous amounts of time, having to repeatedly explain myself. I felt like I was being treated
with disrespect and condescension.

Clearly, is

imperative for me to be open with my doctors to appropriately and completely care for my
health. Discussing bipolar disorder has made certain doctors uncomfortable, but it is not the only
issue I have. In some cases, it is necessary for me to mention my other stigmatized illness:
alcoholism. Although I have achieved long-term, ongoing sobriety, I have received a very mixed
reaction and a lot of judgment due to that. I have learned to brace myself for any reaction when
the need arises to disclose that too. These disclosures have resulted in my discontinuing
association with many doctors.

The most

drastic and disturbing conduct I saw was from an ob/gyn. My health was unremarkable, and her
attitude was cordial enough. She seemed to be respectful, if not the warmest, friendliest doctor I
had ever met. I was unconcerned with that and more attentive to her practices, education and
professionalism. I felt confident in her. I felt satisfied with her proficiency at treating my health.
On about the third
visit with her, she asked me more questions about my health history. After a seconds hesitation, I
decided to give her full disclosure. Immediately she morphed into a different person. The
expression on her face completely changed, and her body language response was to scoot back in
her chair. She looked me over from head to toe, over her glasses; her eyebrows lifting as her eyes
widened. She looked angry.

In this case, for some unknown

reason, I felt slightly frightened- like a child being caught red-handed at misbehaving-but I was
no child, and I had done no wrong. I felt very uncomfortable. From that point on, she maintained
a cold, detached attitude. She regarded me as if I had some kind of horrific, contagious virus.
Her opinion in general-or of me in

particular-was of no importance, however I was stunned by her suggestion the next time I saw
her. Without reason or warning, she asked, Why dont you just get a hysterectomy?
I was a healthy woman, still well
within the reasonable range of my childbearing years. I was experiencing no health
complications or problems, whatsoever.

I asked her why, and if it was

medically necessary, knowing that it most certainly was not. Her response was simply that it
would mean you would have no more menstrual periods.

I felt dumbfounded, almost at

a loss for words. Was she joking? I could not decide what was more insulting: the fact that she
assumed that I had no knowledge of the most rudimentary elements of biology, or that she was
attempting to practice a form of eugenics.

I responded with a polite no thank

you and explained that I would prefer to keep all of my internal organs, unless there was a
viable, medical necessity to remove them.

I felt disgusted, shocked, and

perplexed. I honestly could only think that something was seriously wrong with her, although I
was unsure of exactly what it could be.

I felt gutted by the realization that

her suggestion and poorly crafted attempt at persuasion must have been because of what I was: a
bi-polar alcoholic.

As it turns out, she shares her office with her

sister, who practices the same specialty. Due to a scheduling error, I saw the second sister on my
next appointment. I do not know if she did not read my chart, or if, ideally and hopefully, she
does not possess the same philosophies of judging and deciding for others, whether or not they
should procreate. She conducted a routine exam and I decided to ask her if it would be possible
for me to get pregnant, if I should decide that I wanted to have a child. Her response was, Yes.
You are nowhere near menopause.

I felt satisfied in the confirmation that my suspicion

about the first doctor's suggestion was gravely inappropriate and unethical. I felt confident in

choosing to never return.

Although I have worked exceedingly hard at finding

successful ways to overcome my challenges and lead a rewarding satisfying life, it is hurtful and
astonishingly rude to be treated in such ways. I felt that no matter how accepting I had learned to
be of myself, it was a constant reminder that I am different from others. The ways that certain
people generalize, shun, discriminate and at times, even fear people that are dissimilar to them or
have particular types of illnesses or disorders can still cause damage and pain.
Regardless, I have learned to focus on the positive and to remind
myself that the thoughts and opinions of people's distorted perceptions need not concern me.
They absolutely do not define me. I know at my core, who I am and that I am worthy and
capable. I refuse to waste one moment of my time allowing myself to feel hurt due to ignorance.
I enjoy the option to gravitate toward people who are positive, supportive and understanding.
I learned that a person who discloses mental illness
to others, even medical professionals can experience insensitive, questions regarding their
disability. I learned that a person who is on disability will feel pressured to defend themselves
against hostile attitudes and attacks on their character, as perceived by others' mistrust and doubt.
I learned that being doubted for having an invisible disability will make a person feel deficient,
judged, exasperated, disrespected, and condescended to.
I learned that a physician who seems
proficient and respectful can change behavior based on discovery of illnesses in a patient, such as
bipolar disorder and alcoholism. I learned that persons to whom reproductive sterilization is
suggested due to such disorders will feel insulted, disgusted, shocked, gutted and perplexed.
I learned that a person will
feel satisfied and confident to distance themselves from judgmental, unethical doctors. I learned

that judgment and distorted perceptions do not define others, and one's self worth is most
important.

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