I don’t know why, but this feels necessary tonight.
My name really is Claudia.
The majority of people refer to me as my given name, but, the obvious shortened version of it is Claud. Friendship, familiarity, constant usage, etc, I am most confortable as Claud. The FauxClaud is, to me, an amusing play on words. Faux, of course, mening fake, but pretty much always, online, I have been as real as it gets. I like that I branded myself years before I knew what I was doing.
When my parents named me, the lead name was Colleen. Thank goodness, at one point during my mother’s pregnancy, she and my grandmother heard Lady Bird Johnson’s given name..which was also Claudia and they decided that they liked it better than Colleen. Then, they convinced my dad and here I am.
Now, Claudia is a great name.
Not too many of us, but not wacky, like say Apple. Never had to use an inital at the end to diferentiate myself from the millions of others like all the Jennifers and Michelles growing up. It is Classic, with Roman ties back to Claudius the Emperor. And great public TV..I, Claudius. Hence my play on my Email is I, Claud..which morphed into ImeClaud due to AOL not letting me use the original IClaud during a 6 month period when I changed over accounts.
Unfortuately, no matter how hard I have searched, there is only one true meaning of the name:
Claudia, Claude, Claudius, Claudette, Claudine, etc. The name means LAME.
Now, I know that the meaning is a in a completel literal sense as the original Claudius had a bad limp. That’s OK since, really, if you had to be named after a Roman Emperor, he is a pretty good to be named after. He is not known for killing Jesus, or wild abbriations, he is known for building great inferstructure and strengthening Rome. In fact, the femine version of Claudius,Claudia, first occured when naming an aquaduct. That’s OK: I am an aquaduct.
I use to hate the meaning and looked for anything else that could possibly be used. Why could it not mean beautiful flower, or full of grace, or even something God inspired? No. I have a great name that means broken, disabled, noticably different and injured.
I have come, over time, to embrace the one real meaning of my name. I am broken. I am diabled. I am different and injured.
And while the obvious and usually most predominent reason for thus is because I am a mother who lost her first child to adoption, loss and being broken has been a constant theme in my whole life.
Now most people have had some kind of loss especially by the time thay have gotten to my advanced age of almost 38. But, I cannot fool myself, I know I am doubly blessed in this regard. It’s OK..it’s what I have been delt and I can carry the load. I can still grab my joys at the most simple pleasures and I am so thankful for all that I do have. I’m just scared stupid sometimes of losing anything else.
My friends that have known me forever, I cannot surprise them anymore when the lastest escaped of insanity takes over my life. It’s so common, it’s expected. We joke about it. At work we have a running joke about robbing a bank. Merri and James the Cat are to do the robbery, while Samantha in huge JackieO sunglasses drives the getaway vehicle. They all have code names and race away to Mexico with the loot.
“Oh, Can’t I come?”
“No, Claud..you can’t come”
“Because if you come, we’ll get caught”
Ah, the dark claud of Claud the Lame.
About 8 years ago, at Christines’s Bridal shower, we were discussing a mutual friend who was planning on marring another mutual acquaintance who was alrady married and divorced twice, plus a bit crazy too. Ah, we said..you can’t do that, it’s a recipe for diaster. Maybe they had already done it and had rushed into it and we were discussing the aftermath? The conversation was about following some good “rules” about these things and why they are in place to safeguard marrying crazy people.
“But look,” I said, “I went by the rules with David, went out for three years, planned on getting engaged for more than one year..and it still went weird”
David being the lovely man who decided he was Gay a week after our engangement and my 30th birthday. He freaked out and was never seen from again.
“Oh, Claud” Maryanne laughed, “With you, the rules don’t mean anything”
Or, as my interm probation officer says ( and I guess then I will have to explain sometime why I have an interm probabtion officer and why Williams Lumber sucks..lol), “Talking to you…It puts my life in perspective. Why my car broke down this morning for no reason seems of little consequence now.”
Great..I can help center people.
My very religious friend, Pam, says that these trials in life help build character. I have enough character now, thank you. Others like to say how “strong” I am.
I HATE being called strong. What does strong mean really? That I kept on breathing?
That I did not run naked, screaming down the middle of main street with an Uzi and bunny ears? I had no choice, it was not strength. It was life and I had to keep living. Strong is what people say when they cannot comprehend doing what you have done or going though what you must go though. But really, it’s all luck, or being damned, or fate. They are just lucky enough that they haven’t had to deal with all your or my crap. They might be thinking “Lucky me!”, but they can’t very well say that..so they make you strong. Bleh..I hate it. You do it too if it happened to you.
Nothing strong about breathing, just survival and I live to see another day.
Plus, as much as a nervous breakdown might be tempting at times, I fiqure that once I got out of Benedictine, or South Oaks, I would still have to deal with whatever shit made me lose it in the first place, but now I have been out of work and people are all gonna look at me funny. Not worth it. The bigger escape, death..ah, that I can’t even console myslef with anymore. I have four children to think about and I know that they need me to stick around.
So here I am, Claudia the Lame, Broke Arm, Birthmother, FauxClaud.
And these are my musings.