Breaks from writing to write. That's what my life looks like right now. And this:

Which I am very grateful for.

Now, leading up journal entries transferred into my book, I am digging into the ever deepening abyss of madness. The mania as it is unfolding in my "self-discovery report"

"This is heavy shit" keeps slipping from my lips as I try to sort and choose what to include and what not to ... Dear reader of this here blog, get excited, get real excited because I think I am not going to try to rewrite this story that has already written itself and just share it how it is, as real, raw and embarrassing as it is, in my book about... all of this. 

The shit in these writings (coupled with the stress of the shit going on with USU and the Good ol'boys of the Logan courts) has my filters broken again so please excuse my cursing. 

Side note of TBI. Today during the Office of Equities interview, my brain injury and deficits decided it a good time to show just how fun they can be to have and to have to work with (sarcasm implied). Stress, and especially the very emotional kind this has been, is very hard on the brain and even harder on the broken brain. It was so weird to feel things stop working and get lost before I could get them out. He said things and I could not process them. I repeat, I ask questions, I forget, I don't ask, and today I had to make them wait, for my thoughts and my words to find their paths again so that I could explain what I know and what needs to be considered, documented etc. It's weird because it feels and my brain was behaving more similarly to how it behaves in the earlier phases of brain injury. Words are confusing. Instructions hard to follow. Jumbled. Hard to keep straight, remember, and even how to access the important things that need to be addressed. It really is weird when it happens like this. I think, maybe, it is called distress.

Heavy shit all around. But still I'm up and off the ground.

I will not stay down. 

...And for the record, after reading my emails alone, no way in hell -or heaven or here on earth for that matter- that Jon Pertab didn't know I was manic. Or I really am all that! (and he simply didn't want to believe it).  As I read I want to scream at past me who loved him, trusted him, and kept trying to protect him, "he's not protecting you he's breaking you! He's not defending you, he's abusing you!"...and "he is not trying to help you, he is using you..." Truths, so many times revealed, that I still don't want to believe. 

And the Neuroscience Institute, their patient advocates, No way in heaven, hell, or earth, that they didn't know I was manic or at least that I was broken more severely than had been diagnosed and just trying to get the help I needed. 26 pages, that is how long my side of the story was to them, that they told me the director didn't look at because it was not going to change his decision....

AARGHH remembering. All that I have to write about... aargh realizing all that I have been through and just how bad it was... Again. 

And how pointless. Absolutely pointless suffering and reckless endangerment. 

Heavy shit. But I won't stay down. I won't let it bring me to the ground. Or under it. 

I will keep speaking, keep writing, and keep fighting.

Especially since I know there are others who, they keep telling me, are "not as strong."

 

Set Backs

So the USU police officer that did NOT investigate the phone call my son made, but rather did what he could to make it appear that I was behind the phone call -the officer that intemperately and ravenously ate up Cristopher Johnson's lies and story's about me, has decided he will NOT agree to an informal resolution...

This hurts my heart and it is a setback. I don't want to fight to the next and escalated levels this situation should and needs to be fought to, but now I have to. 

Why?

Partially because I am not okay with being dehumanized and treated with no respect or equality. Partially because I have to fight to stand up for both myself and my family. Our civil rights were violated, period. And, although this is not a final reason and there are many more it is the final I will list here -for now, because of how this wears on my body and psyche. 

Now I am fighting suicidal thoughts again and it is both annoying and angering. They are, once again, a symptom, but this time they are a symptom of external problems that I have no control over. This can be more scary because these externally fed and encouraged symptoms starts to alter my internal chemistry and functioning. Then, with the reinforcement of the external validations of my worthlessness and rejections, and as escape from the problems start to seem more and more impossible, my mind starts looking for ways to escape and the path of least resistance that will save my broken brain from the demanding draws on its energies and reserves that this crap takes... Alternatives to fighting this external fight that I know needs to be fought for more that just me... But that is depleting me and hurting me... For all of these reasons, and maybe more, my tired, broken brain starts reminding me, I could always just move onto the next realm, the paradoxical next phase of existence and the solution of non-existence, thus appeasing and becoming what they are all encouraging me to be; less then human and gone. 

The external insanity of our world and people like those I have had to deal with at USU is bringing me down, making it hard to get up in the morning to face each day, and reminding my brain that there is really only one way to escape...

But I refuse to succumb and thus I fight those people in their positions of power and influence who think it is fun to play games with our -their perceived inferiors- lives. 

BUT wait, it gets better!

I expressed my frustration to the Office of Equities girl that is the one who presented the offer for an informal resolution to the police officer and asked her to give him another chance to agree to an informal resolution. I told her, if he really does not agree to an informal resolution then I would be escalating this to the degree it should be escalated to. Now keep in mind, an informal resolution is the thing that should be least difficult, punitive and consequential to him, and the route that would be most easy on myself and my family even though governing bodies would not be notified and alerted to this officer's bad practices the way they should be. Guess what the Office of Equities girl says about this? She tells me I am coercing and retaliating now if I file those complaints, and in violation of university policy 503 and she has to report that.

WHAT THE HELL?

Stupidest part, even though this angers me, I try to understand, put myself in her shoes, and I respond with empathy for her. Then I turn to friends and family to express my pain, set back and frustration. They are angry and annoyed, and confused with how I could be sympathetic at all to this obviously out of line lady who is now accusing me of coercion and retaliation for: refusing to allow myself to be bullied and mistreated, giving second chances for the perpetrator of harm to have some human decency and treat me with some form of equatable regard, and for letting them know my intentions instead of go straight to the actions that should result in the most consequential and punitive repercussions for this officer.

... Now I am being accused of bullying for not allowing myself (and my family) to be bullied and mistreated. And coercing a man I have never even talked to, but should have, because that was HIS job in the first place. 

This is victim blaming and shaming at its finest. It's heartbreaking again and very literally exhausting. My body does not want to wake up and my mind wants to escape.

So with no further ado I will allow the justifiable anger to escape to the degree that is merited as I bid farewell to these thoughts and offer the officer, professor, and Alison, there well earned regards of fuck you!

the troublesome task of telling telling tales

 Chapters 9- infinity

thats where I am at in my book. I am taking a break now. Taking a break from writing by writing... Silly. 

I'm to the point in my story where I am literally breaking. It is the start of mania, triggered by the perfect storm of misdiagnosed TBI, ankle injury and bad timing and testing of a questionable therapist. This is the point that is very difficult to explain and even harder to know how to write. Especially because I already have so much of it written down in my embarrassingly titled "Self Discovery Report" that dear JP would not partake of from me. The forbidden fruit of his labors. 

Sigh...

oh why?

liberating am I

to tell the truths of so many lies

that kept me trapped 

in the insanity

of institutions 

that dictate ethics 

by paychecks and titles

and all of their mistakes they don't want to be held liable. 

Please Excuse my New Zealand French

 As I read and review what I was going through at that point in time when I was breaking and becoming more and more manic, I can't help but think, "what the hell was he thinking?" And, "how in the hell could he think and act like it was all normal? Like I was normal and fine" because I was not normal. I was weird. I was saying weird things and behaving in weird ways. I was not okay. But I sure as hell was fighting hard to be. 

How the hell did I have people convinced that I was okay? Or did I? Why the hell weren't people more concerned than they were?  ...and it kind of hurts. But I am not letting it... because

I was so freaking weird.

Damn, Pertab, what the hell were you thinking? And what the hell was wrong with you? 

He had to have been pretty damn broken himself. Or bad. Or weird himself. Or did he genuinely get lost and caught up in me and the superpowers I possessed when I was manic?

...or is he diabolical?

Love is not all you need.

 I am away. I have run away. 

Kind of.

I am at my friend's house, in some of the smaller mountains of Idaho. Really, for Idaho, they are not mountains, rather pine covered hills that peak high enough to retain snow just a little more and a little longer than the areas surrounding. They are beautiful and peaceful hills with a nicely moderate climate and scattered homesteads. My friend and her family, that includes a daughter with my namesake, moved here just last year and it is my first time here. It's a nice place to run away to for the purpose of writing a book.

It is also a safe place. 

And I have been pleasantly surprised to find that the lack of association with anything related to my experiences of the past few years has been helpful. It is making the writing of this story (into a book form) easier. 

At least so far. 

Right now I am taking a break to write out a bit of pain that is resurfacing. I have been reading some of my writings from the time of my breaking. This morning I wanted to see how what I was writing in my personal journaling, that, at the time, I referred to as "my self discovery report," compared to what I actually said to Dr. Pertab in email...

It's heartbreakingly devastating again. 

And I can easily see, looking back, why it broke me so completely and dangerously. I was so obviously manic and in a highly vulnerable place. The devastation is because of how it was ignored, dismissed and twisted. 

It hurts my heart and I once again feel so very confused by how He could deny it and do nothing to make sure I got the appropriate help I needed. 

It was so obvious. 

And I want to write to him about it. I want to ask him: Why? 

Which I have already done, every way I can, and have had that used against me. So I know better. Which is why I am on here again. Exposing my burdens, my pain, and my shame and asking him Why? 

Why?

I say I am lucky to be alive and to have made it through that. It's not an exaggeration. I am lucky to have navigated, endured, and survived that level of psychological breaking, and of psychosis, that was also associated with an injury to the impulse control and mood stability control center of the brain. 

I am lucky. 

He? Disappointed? 

It genuinely hurts and probably will every time. 

And I am especially saddened to know that Jon Pertab is no better than the very bad professor Christopher Johnson, who is willing to take harming a student (and her kids) to any level he can simply to protect himself from legitimate complaints that might be filed against him...

That makes me the saddest. 

Because I loved Jon

but I never loved professor Johnson. 

slow processor

It's funny that even still things will pop into my mind and I will say "oh, now I understand."
It's been 3 months and I'm still just figuring things out. This should not come as a surprise, given the neuropsych tests performed showed I was much slower at processing new information. I am intelligent enough but admittedly it can take some time and use of neuroplasticity to process and fully understand new information. And though I will admit I enjoy added cryptic challenges, it can make the deciphering of new information take even longer, especially under emotional stress.
"I don't believe in forever anymore" he said and I didn't know what he meant. It has replayed in my head but made little sense to me.
But I think I get it now.
It was a fleeting moment. Fleeting chemistry? Not a forever feeling. What I was feeling was real but wouldn't last? what he was feeling was real but wouldn't last? He also expressed a contradiction with the latter, that added to confusion.
We humans are so often walking contradictions.
And I am certain I have killed any "fatal attraction" that may or may not have existed (your welcome)
But for me I suppose I didn't really care if it lasted forever or not. I believe in forever and forever is altered by what we do with right now. My forever is forever altered
... and that is okay. It will take time to figure this out and to heal, or maybe I never will heal completely but I have eternity to work it out so that makes it okay.
For him it was a compromise of too much for feelings he does not believe in. I see why and he may just be right but he may also be wrong.
forever is a long time to wait though and with the promise of never I suppose that is why I'm burning it to the ground. At least for him, I'm sure.
"that'll never happen" people keep assuring me when I explain that I just want a real conversation, when I am not in manic survival mode, fighting to keep what I most needed; and I want to understand what happened without their being fears of repercussions for him. But he is the one who has so much to lose by being honest.
I have already lost it all. My safe place where I finally had some answers and understanding. The profession and the professional who actually could help me understand and figure out what I was and am from a psychological, biological, and scientific perspective. The guidance, confidence and appreciation of my uniqueness that was building my confidence in myself, helping me learn to love, appreciate and care for myself. A person I connected easily with and had complete faith in. A person who seemed to genuinely care for me, was patient and kind and who was also interesting and beautiful to me. ...and so much more, but only for a fleeting moment.
I've already lost everything I wished to gain... I have nothing left to loose there, but he does... I wish I didn't care so much. I wish I didn't feel so much.
I am feeling less and less but if I am not careful that fades me into the lost and broken me that is worthless and easily discarded. the part of me that I actually did open up about...
If I don't turn this into something, this ultimate of rejections, I am completely broken and unrepairable. It is a make or break me moment and I have to at least try to stand up for my value as a person, and as a client. I can not be so easily discarded by the people who I am paying to help me believe that I am of worth.
It is not easy to explain...

The Run Away Bunny

"I just need a moment to write this out," I think to myself as my throat tightens and my eyesight begins to blur from the fluid that is welling up in my eyes. 

I am trying to gather the things I think I should take with me on my book writing journey. I am looking through the journal I was writing at the time that Dr. He broke me. I find some entries from 12/1/2018, 12/2/2018 and 12/3/2018. On the 1st I am new person, peaceful, resolved, cool and collective, as well as completely confident with the "new me" that Dr. He helped me to find. On the 2nd I am not sure what is happening and as I write anger emerges. By the 3rd I am exhausted and confused. It can be difficult to read. This time those are not so difficult to read rather they are quite fascinating and intriguing. 

I decide to rewind my story as I flip pages back. I am curious about the lead up and how I documented that. I read from some dates in August of the same year (2018). These entries read more like a typical journal entry and are not nearly as... exciting?... as the the previously mentioned. As I read them I find these entries -that are more reminiscent of normal me- more difficult to read. This is when I start to feel the knot in my throat and the tears starting to well as I realize how much more simple my life was and how much more simple, basic, and naive I was. 

I am so much more complex now. My life is complex. My brain is complex. Everything feels so much more complex and I am burdened with knowledge of just how naive I was about the systems and institutions that are supposed to and were set up to "help" and "protect." 

As I read I find, stirring in me, a longing for that blissful ignorance... an ignorance and innocence that I will never be able to return to. 

What a strange thing. And in tao honesty, I would not actually want to go back 

because it was not really all that blissful. I know this, because if it had actually been blissful I would have been much more immune to and less effected by Dr. He's careless and/or careful plantings of romantic transference and his implications of romantic countertransference. 

So as I prepare to run away to tackle these profoundly life altering phenomenons I am again hit with the realization that it will be difficult. Which is precisely why I am running away to focus on this. 

It is the story that circumstances continue to channel me back to. The culminating event, the yin and yang, the greatest mysteries and discoveries of my life. 

Stories are interesting in the way they seem to take on their own life. Some stories want to buried. Some stories want to be told. But some stories have to be told and they will not rest nor will they allow you to alter your course until you give them the attention they need. You have to tell them. That is how this story is, it will not allow me to redirect, move on, or bury it. It has to be told. So I might as well honor that by allowing it to be written into the book I keep promising it I'll write. 

...and one more thing. I am so very grateful to have the medical-psychiatric-psychological team I have now.