Mirrored Reflections of a Modern Woman Named Amanda-Leigh: Amanda-Leigh and Trayvon Martin

For the month of June, I was in physical pain. My abdomen hurt. When I ate oranges and drank orange juice, the pain increased. For the month of May through June, I suffered from severe depression. The EMDR increased the depression. Writing every painful incident was not easy for me to cope with. The next counseling visit I was scheduled to have would have involved me listening to different tones of music and opening up to the young male counselor. I did not feel comfortable.

At the end of my last session, Dr, Crackerjack (name is fictitious) provided me with a list of feelings to choose from about my current frame and then some more on how I would like to feel. The feelings I chose beforehand were negative. The feelings I chose afterwards were positive. At the time of the session, the thirtieth anniversary of Grandma’s was approaching. Bringing all of the painful incidents sent me into a whirlwind of depression. Since the weather was rainy on the days of my scheduled appointments, I had to wait. Finally, I decided that I did not need to sit in a room for an hour pouring my heart out to a person who did not like me using literary characters to relate to the way I felt inside.

I am able to write today thanks to loved ones who cared about me. I now have a stack of literature and Humanities II textbooks for the Fall semester. I have a few weeks until the Fall semester. I am going to be moving soon. I have friends I would like to handwrite letters to.

My self-image has changed from May. I no longer view myself as worthless, a failure, or helpless. I no longer have to see how Dr. Kevorkian is doing. I no longer have to feel trapped in a dark cellar that refuses to opens. The tools I have are much cooler than the cellar lock anyway. A stationary bike, a pink Yoga mat, and arm weights are more powerful than any health problem in this world. I enjoy working out in bright Capri pants and tank tops. I like to eat fruit and foods that do not contain citric acid. I have also healed as I took a daily woman’s multi-vitamin.

Last night’s verdict in the Trayvon Martin murder case has the majority of the world upset. The message being sent is that the Open Carry Law has no form of justice in the legal system. Every news photo features Trayvon Martin wearing his hoody and baggy jeans. This was his individual identity. However, this is not the image of the young man I keep in my mind of him. I keep the image of Trayvon wearing a black suit and a nice dressy shirt with a tie.

I remember going to eat a Cracker Barrel in Norman in N. I wore a black pant suit. I saw two professional businessmen. We waved at each other as we passed on our paths. These two business men had no idea that a few months ago I had been hospitalized for blood clots and a hysterectomy. I liked that. I really liked that. I liked that wearing my nosiness suit hid everything I had faced on a daily basis. These businessmen did not have to see anything other than the woman I had become.

I have another business suit hanging in my closet. I have black tights to wear with my skirt. I am looking forward to wearing these clothes as I work on homework and wear black dress shoes to match. Experiencing pain is worth this feeling. I feel the same as Faith Hill when she sang “This Kiss.” The road on becoming a writer and editor is really happening. Perhaps I will create one of my literary characters wearing a business suit for others to see. Perhaps I will create a strong heroine who falls for the man who gets rejected and put down too much in his society.

I close with Claude McKay’s heartfelt poem “America.” I am not sure how I should feel right now. George Zimmerman walks away a free man. A child from Oklahoma was sent to live with her “Father” with the Judge having full knowledge he had been a sex offender. A couple in South Carolina continued to adopt a little girl even though the girl was happy living with her biological Father. At the end of the night, two strong parents walk away without justice for their son’s murder. Do two strangers in the middle of the night not stop believing? This journey we call life is not easy.

"America"

Claude McKay (1921)

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth!
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.