Hearts and souls heal slower than brains.

 I don't have time to write right now but I want to. For whatever reason I had this post open on a screen; https://amicrazy2.blogspot.com/2019/09/superman-takes-kryptonite-for-his-sanity.html At that point in time my TBI still had not been accurately diagnosed. It was still being labeled as a concussion or mTBI (mild traumatic brain injury). This blog entry makes even more sense knowing the TBI was more than just a concussion, especially when you consider this comment "I could feel the black dead ends that used to be well traveled routes and then I could feel it rerouting; doing something different to arrive at the same place."

Fascinating. 

Which brings me to what I really want to write out today. Yesterday I had a long late conversation with my daughter. Her planned breakup with her high school boyfriend is not going all that well. Even knowing if anyone could do it my daughter and her best-friend-boyfriend could, it's not all that surprising that it's not as easy as they had hoped it would be. 

Unfortunately for the ex-boyfriend he is feeling more heartbroken... and because of it he is behaving rather strange. 

As my daughter talks and tells me about all of the strangeness and how love triangles are turning into pentagons and hexagons etc. I can feel the pains of love and the confusion that accompanies it. "There are no right answers," I tell her as I fight back my own tears.

Memories return and feelings surge. Although they are significantly subdued they still manage to hurt as they push hydration up into my eyes. 

My daughter is also dealing with other things -trying to come to terms with how her own brain functions and malfunctions. She is careful, thoughtful and wise beyond her years. Part of this she attributes to me and I am grateful I have been able to help her be better off than she would have been. The dimensions of our brains are fascinating and I enjoy talking to her about it. But it also stirs those memories and the devastation I still feel from not being allowed to explore what really was happening to my brain when I was manic and manifesting but managing so well that my professionals on the matter were missing and denying it. 

It was so fascinating and I want to understand it from every angle. I want to discuss it and talk to those who were party to it in order to help progress the medical and psychological fields that address it. But I am refused that privilege and it feels so degrading and oppressive.

"Maybe someday," I say to myself as I struggle to refrain from attempting to reach out again in hopes that this time they'll listen and care... 

We could help each other so much and so many others...and this is what hurts me the most. Then tying back to my conversation with my daughter I begin to wonder again as phrases start haunting again, was it simply just a matter of heartbreak and a man-boy not knowing how to handle the feelings he was having? Maybe. 

Dear Dr. He, 

Has enough time passed that you might be able to reconsider the terms of our interactions? Forever and never... Do you remember?  I do. You don't believe in forever anymore - although I don't know what you meant- while I don't believe in never, my friend.  And I wonder, is it possible that we might find a better balanced medium between the two -forever and never, that is? 

By this I suppose I am really asking if you can you please reconsider your forever declarations of falling in love with me, declared by never having anything to do with me outside of therapy? I understand that it is unlikely you still feel this or have any feelings of fondness for me left at all and my rational logical brain has let you go as well. But the part of my heart you stole and the other part you implanted yourself in would benefit greatly from making amends. Maybe then I could sort you out and satisfy my soul that will forever keep trying to knock that door down in order to retrieve those pieces of me left behind.  Maybe then you can explain and I can refrain and retract the warnings I feel obligated to provide others who could also be so easily and devastatingly broken by you. The potential for good is so significant here, please let me help you help me and you help me help you too. 

You know how to find me, please do. 

Sincerely, 

Me

How to use Confirmation Biases to Oppress: #freebrittney and me

 ...just keep keeping on, believing in you and eventually you will pull through.

It's not going to work because I won't let it -the confirmation biases that is.

To my neurologist I say today, "maybe they are right about me. Maybe I'm not doing nearly as well as I think" after reading what USU is willing to release in regards to what has been said about me. 

He, professor Johnson never complained about me until AFTER I had asked to be removed from his class and I had complained about him. Then suddenly I am such a disruptor that he wants me removed and he throws out terms to feed and use confirmation biases to his advantage first planting then twisting and feeding those twisted understandings and beliefs about people with TBI's. 

Even though I know this and I feel prepared, it still hits me hard each time and, just to be fair, I find myself analyzing me to see if they just might be correct about me or if their degradations are true. To some degree maybe, but not to the degree he is using against me. 

It's so easy to see when you let go of those biases. At first I was frustrated again by their unwillingness to provide the records that show the truth. But that should not hurt me and cause me to doubt when I know what the reality really was. Show me. 

You say tangential speak and longwinded distractions, a negative influence in class, I was. Prove it. 

I don't disagree that I was causing Dr. Cristopher Johnson to feel insecure, but it is not likely quite due to how he has since manipulated others to perceive me to be. 

...aahhh, and I have been here before. 

Which could explain the heightened manifestations of traumatizations triggered by the backfiring of a car on the road this last week

Tangential? Not at all. 

The stress of what I am experiencing with USU is quite similar to the stress I experienced with IHC and the Neuroscience Institute. That stress and the reason I was there (IHC) was directly related to a car accident that caused a TBI that went misdiagnosed by the Neuroscience Institute and IHC for two years and contributed to significant problems for me with IHC. That increased stress and trauma. 

A backfiring motor sounds just like your car being hit; the initial injury that led to and increased so many of these insults. The added stress of USU makes me extra sensitive and a post traumatic stress response more likely. It's not so hard to figure out and not tangential at all.

Thus, maybe, my tangential might not be so tangential at all, but rather a term and a label used to plant, twist and then feed confirmation biases and the like. hmmm. Is this something a University should consider? You be the judge. 

 

What I personally don't appreciate is how these "experts" and "professionals" keep trying to say I am "crazy" and irrational when I not and not when I was. And then using all of it against me and forcing me to to continue to pay for everyone else's mistakes and negligence made in how they  "handled" and understand me. 

My sister, the prison guard, distrusts psychologist most because, as she has observed, their diagnosis somehow seem to conveniently match whatever benefits the diagnosing provider most. I see and I increasingly agree. 

Now it is time to #FreeBrittney and me from the labels and the abuses of confirmation biases and people who jump on the bandwagon with little to no regard for what's really going on and little desire to help the oppressed at all; playing with fire while feeding the flames of gas powered lighting.

Again, tangential? Or are they just having a hard time keeping up and feeling insecure about that? 

Wars and rumor of wars

I come on here to write sometimes because what I really want is someone to talk to. Someone who understands, someone who cares. 

The problem with people, facilities, institutions, and organizations handling certain types of countertransference the way they do is that they absolutely reinforce all of the rejections and negative perceptions we have about ourselves built on foundations that are often created by the negligent and/or selfish treatment of others who have debased and degraded us in so many different ways in the first place.

"I am not worthy of love and acceptance," is the message I keep receiving... and I can't seem to pull out of the external cycles that keep reinforcing those internal messages...

My safe place, my home rejecting me, when I was most vulnerable, to never again let me in.  

"Please don't shut the door on me completely," I plead, "or I'll just keep coming back trying to kick it down."

It was not a threat. It was not what I wanted or planned to do. It was not anything consciously intended at all. It was a response from my body, mind, soul and all parts of me telling him that I needed the safe place that he was for me while I was in the midst of the turmoil outside of his fortress. It was pure self-preserving instinct speaking. 

To better explain, imagine a child in a war torn dangerous place who happens to stumble across a rescue mission, a fortress surrounded by protective walls. The child is let in, made to feel safe and protected and given food or some other form of sustenance or protection to bring back to their own family. Family who is actively engaged in the wars that the child is yearning to escape. As the war becomes more intense, as it moves closer to the child's home and family, the child begins to understand that they don't want the war, they want to be part of the safety and peace that the mission is professing and claiming to be. The mission that had taken him in and offered the assistance and protection the child so desperately yearned for. 

When the war is at the child's door, ready to claim the life and liberties of the child the child flees and returns to the mission only to find the door shut tight, their previous saviors locked tight inside refusing to respond to the knocking, then pounding, of the frightened child whose life and safety is now in immediate danger. 

The child is not kicking and pounding at the door because they intend to hurt the mission, they are kicking and screaming because they are pleading for their life and begging for the help and protection that they know lies on the other side of that door as their assassins close in from all sides...

...Somehow I managed to survive on the outside; amidst so many warring forces. I had to negotiate, pretend, agree, fight, hide, and do whatever I had to in order to survive, one foot in both camps, at home and a fraud at all times -all while knowing this fortress exists but simply didn't want me anymore. 

How long can that last? How long can I survive in this warring world that does not want me either? 

Alone, running and hiding while somehow trying to connect and create a new space for myself that mimics the lie I once believed to be true: that I was worthy of love, appreciation, acceptance, help and protection, and even that I had value so significant it was scary to those who could utilize it best for the benefit of themselves and others amidst the tumultuous times....

A lie. A heart breaking and devastating lie? Or is it the truth and those on the other side of the wall, hiding behind their fortress walls, are simply cowards? Maybe cowards who don't really care to accomplish the mission they profess to be working at and toward and collecting money for? 

Tired. Sad. Brain stumbling again. Relationships impossible to navigate anymore because I am not worth saving and that impacts every aspect of your life. Others will believe it too, when they know that you have been rejected by the mission that claims to be the protector of your exact kind. They make you wrong to ease their own fears that maybe our worshipped gods of Dr's and PhD's might not be gods after all. Then, once labeled, by those same perceived gods, confirmation biases becomes the oppression used to control. -

...Now that'd be a good study, "How are confirmation biasses used to oppress marginalized populations?"

Maybe those on the other side of the wall are actually the warlords creating the wars while claiming to be the safe places and sanctuaries for the refugees of their own destructions. 

Tired and sad. 

sleep to reset. Maybe that is all that I need...

and inside me I hear and I am reminded, "he doesn't care, he's not going to read it, he's embarrassed by you and ashamed." 

move on. move on. please feet keep working. Please keep me moving on... don't try to go back to the lies. 

 

Turn Around Bright Eyes

 When I rolled the 300K mile Jetta with my kids in carseats in the back, I had a clairvoyant moment in which I understand completely the concept of faith, as the car floated over and landed softly topside down. 

I crawled out the window of my car and with the help of a shaken passer by we retrieved my two children who were hanging upside down in their carseats. My daughter hung a bit longer than my son since she was retrieved second. I suspect that is why she had a slight red mark on her shoulder where the carseat belt held her securely upside down. Aside from that the only other injury between the three of us was a small cut on my left pointer finger. 

That cut healed a little slower than expected, and left a rather bulging scar that was slightly tender, but it seemed to be all the way healed. Then months later a strange thing happened, a small shard of glass worked its way out of the old injury and the bulging scar. The bulk disappeared and now the scar is hard to find.

Injuries can be very interesting and it is fascinating how differently our bodies can respond to foreign objects that become embedded in them. Like slivers. You can get a tiny to large sliver from any number of things and they can range from unnoticeable to quite painful. Some have to be pulled out but others will actually work themselves out on their own. Sometimes the skin will heal over and the body will hardly care it is there while other times the tiniest sliver can quickly turn into a nasty infection. Some slivers, especially if it is from certain species of plants and/or animals can actually work their way deeper into your tissues, like porcupine quills. This is why we usually try to get the buggers out even if they are not bothering us in ways that cause pain.

Glass shards. They can be slivers and they can embed and do the same thing. 

But what about the pieces and shards of people left in our hearts as they splinter and pull away from us? 

What do you do about those? How do you remove those? Is it better to remove it or let it work is way out? Or will they work themselves deeper inward if ignored and left to their own devices? Which is more likely to destroy the tender heart of the person whose heart was pierced; pull the shards out or leave them be? Do we need to become like Ironman and develop some fancy sophisticated mechanism that keeps the potentially deadly shard from breaking our heart completely by keeping them from going either in or out?

... a few days ago I blogged out some of my anger and frustration. The name of Dr. He making its way out on this published blog again. He who should not be named. 

Was it a mistake to name him? Could that cause me more harm? Could it harm him? Determined to quite believing in the ideals that may at times imbalance my ability and choices in acting, I chose again to leave that name up; an effort to stop protecting a person who may be causing similar harm to others...

...But a few shards of him are still left in my heart and since not all the pieces had worked themselves out something was activated... and I am again reminded of the good and ideals that I still want to believe...

What is this? What does it me? And what to do about it? 

I think of my friend far away who understands the betraying countertransference creature... I am confident she would understand, better than any, my blogging of these last few days. And I reflect on the power I seem to be giving by renaming that which I want benign. 

Some shards have worked themselves out and that progress I do not want to undo or reverse. But also some pieces of me I don't want to loose, so I decide it is a mistake and I unpublished his name. 

Unnamed he is much more benign and so am I to his good works and positive potential that -in spite of it all, I still know that he has some. My hope that he might help more than he hurts. 

Such a strange place to be... But it's also faith in me, that I might help more than I hurt as well. 

He said he'll never have anything to do with me outside of therapy, and he doesn't believe in forever anymore. But I do believe in forever, and I don't believe in never -Now what is to be done about that?

I don't know.

but I do know that mistakes are often correctable and I am allowed to make them too. 

However I'd like to remain the type of person that will try not to make them at the expense of others and I will correct them whenever I can.  

It's a motto and a hope that others might live by those standards -so often proclaimed declarations of their professions. Declarations and professional standards that too often get swept under the rug and hidden with skeletons in closets that fill up too quickly with a lot of easily correctable and reversible mistakes. It's baggage that does not need to be denied, hidden and held onto by those to whom it does not belong. You need to understand that taking my baggage, hiding it, and lying about it does not lighten my load or yours  at all. Even if you leave some of your own baggage with me. 

 

 

Yesterday

 "Love was such an easy game to play. Now I need a place to hide away."

Oh, do I believe in yesterday?

hmm. Yesterday. I was angry and posted it. Today I am angry and blurry. My brain is struggling to stay ahead of the negligent and intentional "inflictions of emotional distress." 

And the ringing in my ear keeps on nagging. Reminding me that I have permanent and lasting damage... reminding me that these struggles are further compounded by that... and the ringing keeps nagging

... but this time it is also a gentle reminder. A comforting ringing that reminds me that I am here, I am present, and I am STRONG enough to fight and keep fighting. 

Renee says I don't have to fight. And she is right. But she is also not quite right. I think I know and understand what she means, but it's still and truly a fight that I don't think it quite right to deny at this particular moment in time. 

Which I suppose is why I am here right now. Because I am choosing to fight it. Or maybe a more correct phrasing is to handle it; I am choosing to handle it. Not to ignore it, not to pretend, not to allow, not to suppress, and not to accept the oppression, bad treatment, dehumanizing, degrading, and violations of my rights.

Yesterday. I was mad and I named the name of he who should not be named because I do not wish to keep protecting him. It is a foolish thing to do considering he would have rather I died than admit he made a mistake. Or, again, he really was up to no good and there were no mistakes but intentional abuses of power, position, and influence. alas.. who cares, he's a schmuck and we know it. It is sad and I wish it to not be so and admittedly I still cling to the notion that it might not be true, but alas, that has done no good; so I leave the post up as evidence and testimony to my efforts to let go of those notions and words that the reality of actions have disproven.

still cares, more true than who cares, which is a part of me that is worth embracing. 

truth, justice, concern for others, forgiving, determined, intelligent...

I am on here now to turn myself around. Change my perspective again and let go of the darkness that is trying to pull me now, trying to destroy me again. 

It's pretty amazing how dark the world and people can be and how little regard they can hold for others. It's shocking to me... 

Still shocking. and sad. And I think that is how I would like to stay. I do not want to join their dark deprives and I will not let there bigotry destroy me.

Proud. I can be. I am allowed. Proud because I can pull myself out IN SPITE of the added challenges pulling me down.

To the grave.

I will not go. Not now, not yet, I have too much still left to do. 

Turning around is starting to work and I am feeling lighter, freer, and happier again. 

Now for an anecdote of gained understanding, empathy and compassion that I'd never have been able to understand otherwise: The discrimination I have faced is quite real and incredibly frustrating ESPECIALLY when it comes from the industry in which I perceive so much potential for good; that being the field of psychology. It has caused me to reflect on issues of racism and other forms of prejudice, bigotry and discrimination. I think of how blacks were not allowed to participate in sports just because they were black even though so many of them are so naturally and biologically athletically gifted. An area where they had so much potential and yet they were not allowed to participate, and dismissed, ignored, degraded and even vilified, when they tried... You have no idea, until you have lived it, just how demoralizing and dehumanizing, degrading, and how unequivocally unfair this really is... 

Then to be vilified for trying and criminalized when someone else tries to stand up and speak out for you and at times and without your knowledge of it even happening... We, as a society, a country, as individuals and institutions still have such a long way to go. 

So I fight. Not just for me but for all minorities and marginalized people. I will fight alone if I have to and harder when I need to. I will keep fighting; being the pain in the ass I am accused of being, until the asses quit sitting on people and crushing their hopes, dreams and potential for good in this world. It is quite demoralizing and dehumanizing to be sat on; so if you'd like your pains in the ass to stop being that then maybe you should sit your ass by our sides and try listening to the pains you are determined to squelch. 

To those we hate to have loved (and trusted).

"my life is very complex right now," says the man who was screwing with my brain when he was supposed to be my champion.

You have no f*@% idea.

that word is coming out...

Which means I am struggling more than I care to let on in realtime.

I am angry. I am tired of being treated with so little regard. I am tired of knowing too much and having to fight for the most minimal of fair treatment. I am tired of being ignored and unheard. I am tired of being expected to be what everyone else needs me to be. 

I am angry that people at Utah State University are being as stupid, disrespectful, bigoted as they are. I am shocked by the police chief, captain, and officers there. Shocked. I understand now why people want to defund the police. 

I am angry for injustices others have suffered. I want to scream until I am heard.

And those damned images just keep coming back, a symptom of rejection, and what society is feeding.

Trapped.

I feel trapped and I am so damn mad at Dr He. The creator of my demise. 

I have a million times changed my perspective and come at it all from different angles. I went to school with high hopes, faith, and the most confidence I could muster only to have it turn into the shit that it has.

Bad people. USU, Cache county, has a lot of bad people. 

too many...

I used to think that people were basically good... But now I know otherwise. They are corrupt, ignorant, unkind, deceitful, and lemming like. A witch hunt. A a band wagon. That is what they resort to, excited by the prospect of drama, but not real drama, only one families trauma, that they deep down know is safe to attack so they can pretend to be hero's by bullying... Utah State University, what a great school (that is sarcasm, in case you did not pick up on that). 

tired.

not broken...

but entirely broken.

hurt

angry

lonely,

sad

denied

rejected

reduced

I hate you Dr. He, because you made my life so much more complex than it needed to be and when it already was. Are you proud? of how you screwed up my brain, of how you had more control than I ever allowed you to have and in spite of my resistance? Are you happy to know that I still struggle to keep you out of my head and that piercing shards of you still remain in my heart? Or are you disappointed that I did not die for you and/or because of you?  

Dr. He, the most deceitful person I have ever let into my heart, Are you proud? 

I am more than you ever deserved and more than you will ever know. Someday you will cease to exist and I will no longer long or wish for resolve of the lies you told, planted and nourished. I will, someday, break free of this and your name will be as benign and obsolete as it is to the rest of the world... Some day...

and what a sad thing, your existence as obsolete, insignificant, and unimportant as you have made me to be. 

So Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas, Someday I will break free. 

and Same to you USU, the University of Bigotry 

 *7/25/21- update: Name changed... refer to blog entry from today 7/25/21

The Little Red Hen and other fairly common tails of bigotry.

 Blog it out. That is what I feel like doing in this moment. Instead of closing my eyes again.

"Who will help me...?" Asked the Little Red Hen.

"Not I."

"Not I." 

"Not I."

"Then I will do it myself," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.

That is how I feel right now. There are laws, there are rules, there are constitutions that should have and should still be protecting myself and my son who made that pesky phone call. There are... but trying to have your rights protected when those in power have decided yours don't count, is very difficult. 

But that is my job now. It is a big part of why I wanted to get that master's or PhD in psychology, to help end such blatant and damaging discrimination and bigotry... To walk away from this fight I give up my rights and agree to the devaluing, degrading, and damaging not just of myself but of my son and of others who have similar disabilities or that have been discriminated against in similar ways. 

It is not okay. It is not Okay for me to be criminally charged because a professor was treating me bad enough to trigger PTSD and to upset a kid enough that the kid felt he needed to fight back. 

The culture of victim shaming and blaming being fully supported and upheld by Utah State University and Cache County prosecuting attorneys -who actually did not even have jurisdiction over the situation. It should have gone to the Juvenile Courts and the Utah Legal Code: "(2) The Legislature finds it is necessary to provide child victims and child witnesses with additional consideration and different treatment than that usually afforded to adults. The treatment should ensure that children's participation in the criminal justice process be conducted in the most effective and least traumatic, intrusive, or intimidating manner."
https://le.utah.gov/xcode/Title77/Chapter37/C77-37_1800010118000101.pdf

Utah State University's false allegations of me made my son a victim and he was clearly a witness. Wad he treated according to Utah Code? No, this clearly did not happen. 

At all. Instead the pursued the most intrusive, intimidation and traumatic for both the kid and his family. 

And that is just one violation by Utah State University and the Utah State University Police. 

It is mind boggling to me that they would proceed in such a way as to cause irreversible damage to me when they knew it was not me that made the call and that it was a kid. It is weird to me that people would suspect that I put the kid up to it, especially if you look at and consider the circumstances and how I was handling the situation. 

But bigotry and prejudices create a lot of weird misconceptions about people. 

Yesterday I read, in the APA journal, about how the field of psychology prides itself in being scientific and its scientific research, but that psychology in the US is to US oriented and thus cannot be generalized to the broader world population.

...Big Sigh...

Maybe the real problem is the way we look at and approach scientific research and how we use it to overgeneralize. 

"anomaly" 

"outlier"

"You present well"

 I don't fit the generalized findings of research.... Of course I don't. I don't want to. I am human and an individual. Not a number, not the summery of generalized and overgeneralized findings. 

Science and the scientific approach psychologists value so much according to the APA demand discrimination, yet discrimination destroys individuals, communities, etc. and we know this

Jumping again now my brain is wanting to scream about the whole "mental illness" label. It's a condescending and degrading term that does not apply to people who are carefully, conscientiously, and successfully managing their psychological and physiological mental differences. It's why I am slightly angry with the gays; because they abandoned the rest of us with this degrading term and doing so has actually increased the overgeneralized condescension of the term...

Sigh... sigh...

Maybe I will go close my eyes again... because they are starting to leek.