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. 

Extending tolerance and compassion

Not many reads for determined little weeds

but that's just how it is for us 

when we are perceived as nothing more than weeds.

And that's not what I came on to write but I'm a bit discouraged by the numbers that stay so very low... even though

I keep fighting to get and stay ahead

of my broken head

that is discriminated against and held against me

by the very people who should know better and are in the positions to create positive change. 

Yet, the harder I try the more it is used against me. Sometimes it really seems that people have no idea and are so very ignorant about how harsh, intolerant and mistreating they really are. Sometimes I do wish my "disabilities" were more visible and better understood. I wish they were part of the trendy disadvantages, like certain (and only certain) races and and physiological problems are.

But they are not. So moving one

Brazil man. I told the story about him and what I learned to a small group the other day. I admitted that I felt guilt and shame for my own personal biases and prejudices, my misunderstanding, misconceptions and even discrimination of him. "Don't beat your self up," on of the group members tell me. 

I don't. My referencing guilt and shame is what has this group member and others concerned when I tell them I felt it. Anyone that knows me knows that I was not likely as unkind or unfair as many others would be. But that does not matter, I was not as kind and fair as I like to be and feel I should have and could have been. But the bigger concern I have in this moment with that group is the misunderstanding of guilt and shame. So I explain:

Guilt and shame have there place and that was an appropriate time for me to feel it. I am glad that I did.  I am glad that I felt it because it means I was aware and that I have a conscience. Feeling it caused me to reflect on the situation. It let me know that I did something wrong or that went against my core values and beliefs. It caused me to analyze the situation and by doing so I was able to recognize how deeply entrenched the biases, misconceptions, prejudices and discriminations are in the societies and cultures I come from and how deeply entrenched they were in me. It helped me see some of the harmful errors in our USA ways. It helped me to confront my own biases and discriminating actions against not only this man but others and even against my own self. 

This situation helped me to make a choice, then and there and multiple times since, about how I perceive and treat others who are labeled as "crazy," about how I treat myself, and about how and what I do to help bring about changes... 

which I suppose is ultimately why I am sad about the low numbers and the losses of opportunities that have come as a result of those exact problems with our USA culture -because of those those deeply engrained and deeply entrenched biases, prejudices,  misunderstandings, misconceptions, stigmas and discriminating practices.

Sometimes this burden makes my head heavy and tired and my eyes taught with sight blurring liquid. The burden actually exacerbating symptoms of the disability that I have... and I often find myself wishing that Pride month extended to all of us who have had to carry those labels of "mentally ill" and that have been discriminated against and ostracized for those conditions that kind of set us apart.   

For the record, I am no more or less "ill" than a homosexual. The difference is that my conditions are still labeled, officially and otherwise, as "mental illness," and I am still perceived to be, labeled as such, and heavily discriminated against for it, much like gays were just a few years ago. 

But I am not alone in this. I am speaking for many kind and valuable people who are silenced more than you care to know and are used, abused, ostracized, stigmatized, overgeneralized about and lumped into categories that we do not belong in.... so many heartbreaking and devastating stories I know but that are not mine to share. So I share mine and give you permission to share mine as well. Not because I am "self promoting" but because I want to help people and I want deep and meaningful changes to happen on individual and societal and cultural levels. 

So this month as you challenge your views and perceptions of others who may have different ideas, values, beliefs about sexuality and gender please consider challenging your views and others about people with very real physiological conditions and disadvantages that are still labeled as "mental illnesses" and still significantly misrepresented, misunderstood and heavily discriminated against when they are trying to work through their conditions and learning how to adapt and live with them. It's not easy and we also need love, acceptance, tolerance and compassion. 

Thank you for taking the time to read. 

Determined little weeds

I want to blog about these pretty little things. 

Like this short sweet little guy found in my yard

  And these unusually tall versions found in the shady and plant crowded foothills of the mountains by me. 

Look close, there are a few, and they are very tall. 

 I especially loved the tenacity, determination and resilience shown by this particular sweetie as it stretched and reached anyway it possibly could to reach sunlight; a resource it needs to survive. 

That is what I wanted to blog about. And it does fit but something more is haunting again... and it is so, literally, exhausting. I had dreams about dreams and hauntings of the He who would not let me be what I really was but instead turned me into a perceived liability... 

Hauntings. Dream disturbances. Dreams of dreams and trying to figure out in my dreams which experiences were real and which were previous dreams... I lived a lot of lives in those days but some were merely dreams. Waking up already depleted and defeated again. Dr. She says that is PTSD. 

Okay. 

But why? Why must I be made out to be a bad guy when I was/am trying my hardest to #1 get the help I need, and #2 trying to help bring about positive changes for others so they can get the help they need. 

And there is a #3 to it to that hurts due to how ignored and discredited I have been for it, #3 trying to help and protect even those that caused the harm to me. 

PTSD... It's weird.

So is mania

and TBI

and the lasting effects those have on yourself and your relationships.

But today I am not as sad as my dreams want me to feel. I am happy, strong and confident because that is what I am determined to be. It's just a matter of stretching and reaching for the sunlight and resources I need. 

...but... it's still hard. and it still hurts... Especially when I have to go through all of those messy records to try and get the resources I actually am supposed to be "entitled" to. 

Stretch and reach. Stretch and reach. I have done it before and I can do it again. 

slipping

 I feel myself slipping into depression. I don't want to and I am trying to fight it, to stay afloat... I am tired. and part of me wants to allow myself to slip into oblivion. What am I actually fighting for? If I am fighting alone? 

This is how, why and when we lose. 

But right now I have to keep fighting because I have kids. Kids that would hurt and be angry. Kids that might blame themselves...

So "fight harder" I hear Dr. She say to me so many months ago.

Fight harder again.... but the fight is more outside than inside anymore... and it seems to be what the world is telling me. Am I selfish for not listening? For not shutting up and disappearing the way they all want me to?

"It's a symptom" I remind myself... 

My Dad

 My dad admits that he was not always the best listener. In my younger years, high school and jr high days, sometimes we'd get into fights and then we'd go for a ride. I don't remember why or how this arrangement would actually come to pass, but I do remember that going for a ride meant he was going to stick with me as we fought through what we needed to and then we would reach some form of understanding. 

These last few days I have been worried a little about my dad. He needs time to process and it seems as if he does not want to stick it out... Is he okay? Is he suffering more than I know. I thought maybe I should show up and take him for a ride. But then he called to check in today. That is a relief. He says he is okay. He is coming around again, caring enough to stick it out even though it makes him uncomfortable. He felt bad about bringing up the emotions again for me today. "Dad they are always there, but it is much worse trying to figure it out and handle this alone and on my own." I was glad he was trying to help even if it does not feel like he is helping. 

It matters. 

We talk more. I explain a little and he starts to pick up on the depth and complexity of how things like what is happening with USU really effects people and how it has been effecting me. "Is that an issue right now?" he asked concerned about suicidal thoughts. 

"It's not suicidal thoughts," I explain, "it is the impulses that come on strong and with a vengeance through crap like this. They seem to hit each time they hit."

My dad surprises me, "Those are very scary and dangerous," he says. 

I don't know why it surprises me that he has learned to understand it so well, because it was very obvious that an impulse is what killed my younger brother and my dad's eldest son. I don't tell him that the fight with him triggered these intrusive impulsive thoughts. 

I think it is just a shocking contrast to how he perceived these issues and his understanding of such things when I was a teen. Depression was handled with, "quit feeling sorry for yourself," "suck it up" and, "get over it." If I had mentioned suicidal thoughts then I'd have been lectured for it and probably given a church type of lesson. In those years my dad would have probably told me that was stupid and I better not do something stupid like that. Or he would have ignored it and just been embraced or disappointed that I ever thought such things. Now he understands, the impulses are scary and they do not necessarily come from you - you as in who you are. They come from something else; nature, nurture, instinct, injury, chemistry, and a million messages received from external sources all rolled up into intense bursts of images and instant solutions to the fights that are constantly wearing on you. 

Impulses are dangerous. And my regulation of those is compromised because of the injury to the portion of my brain that is most efficient at handling impulses. Added external stresses, especially unjust and unnecessary, depletes my abilities to fight while triggering thoughts that directly stem from the messages they are sending; that I don't matter and they want me to go away. 

People talk big about suicide prevention... but when it comes right down to it, most do not care to learn or understand the realities and even those who are supposed to be professionally trained will carelessly and callously contribute to the triggers and messages that feed the intrusive impulsive thoughts. 

I suppose, as I reflect right now, I am glad that I had a dad that, though misguided at times, at least taught me how to push through and how to fight it out...

Half a Glass

 "I don't want you to see the glass as half empty."

Half full, half empty. I don't really care

Sometimes a cup of water is just a cup of water. Maybe it is holding 4 of the 8oz it is capable of holding. Then it is simply half a glass of water. 

Maybe it has more. Maybe less. Is it enough to meet your needs? Can it be refilled? Is it old water? good water? Is it water at all? Has it been polluted by various people washing their hands with or of it? Is it being drained and never refilled? Or left to sit alone because it's neither full nor empty? There are so many variable to consider that might be more important.

"but I am broken." Why is that a "bad" thing? Why do people insist that saying so is looking at my reality as a glass half full or empty? I'm not. It's simply a cup of water and I will use the water inside for whatever I need it for then fill it again and use it again. It's just a cup of water. Half empty or full doesn't matter, it's what I do with the water inside and it's how I use the cup.

And maybe, sometimes, the cup is broken. 

Then what good does it do to debate on whether it is half empty or half full? Because while we are debating, the water is draining because the cup is broken. 

Maybe the real fear is: what to do with a broken cup? Am I to be discarded? It seems so. When your cup breaks then you do get discarded by many, because you are broken and that is what we do with broken things. 

But my broken cup can still hold water

It just can't hold quite as much so if it is filled to full then it will inevitably lead to a leaky mess. A better analogy than you know.

Half empty, half full, broken all the way or just more than you care to accept? 

I don't really care. To me it just is what it is and I need and want to be okay with that. It would also help if others would learn this and be okay with that too. 

kintsugi 

messages received

 I wrote this little poem at some point between 1/1/2019- 7/1/2019 When I was still being misdiagnosed and very inaccurately and mis- treated. 

Sit at home and watch TV 

Being what I am supposed to be

Brainless reflector of mass

media fed personality.

Think for yourself

You are crazy- "you're crazy" - no credit

"I love you but do not want you"

Can't get a job @ Walmart - Too confident

"You need to be humbled"

Stop dreaming

Be happy with mediocrity

 

Out

 I am so tired of fighting to get the help I need....

I should know better by now. Stop asking. It just makes me feels worse.

and then...

image stronger than it has been in awhile... gun to head. 

But out, not dead, I push this image out. It is not welcome.

"In the trenches," they say they'll be right there with you

until they see you cry

or until they see just how scary your trenches are. 

then they disappear

 but not without first letting you know that 

It's you, not them

maybe it is time to sleep again.

Cry and sleep.

I had to fight too hard today for help that may or may not happen

and to explain exactly what happened. 

You are supposed to stand up for what is right. Unless, of course, everybody else is sitting down. 

Stand up for what is right... few people, very few people actually do. They'll just disappoint 

them Blame

you, of course

We have bought into the delusion of majority rule equating to what is "right" 

If it is common and happening all the time then it is right? 

Mad dad. mad me. 

fight it out. push through, 

but did we resolve or did I just drive a bigger wedge...?

Gun to head

"be dead" 

it says.

But still no. I won't go.

Sorry to disappoint

 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. 

Learned Helplessness and PTSD

 Afraid.

Learned helplessness and PTSD. They are real deals. 

I am trying to keep a silver-lining outlook and stay positive and upbeat about all of these lessons I have learned these last few years, but sometimes, it's just hard.

A lot of times it's hard.

I have so many things I need to do but I am afraid. I feel safe in this spot on the couch but that safety seems to end when I try to face what I need to do. Like working on the insurance settlement. My attorney friend allowed me to fire him so I could try on my own to get as much as I could out of the uninsured policy. Money that I need considering the deficits I now have and the chronic medical and psychological care that at times feels and/or seems to be terminal. Money I need because working full-time now is proving to be impossible especially within my chosen field and for which I am licensed as an elementary school teacher. The amount it would cost to have my attorney do this job is equivalent to a years teaching salary and the maximum I could get is only enough to cover three years wages and no benefits. So I feel like I at least have to try to get the settlement myself if my attorney friend is okay with that. He is a very good person and said he was. He understands. I am grateful to him. 

...but now I am sitting here trying to muster the courage to even send the records along that my attorney friend sent me. I am so afraid that I will screw it up and end up in worse shape... 

It is not hard to see why I would be feeling theses things. My recent past makes it very obvious why. I keep thinking that my ability to recognize it will help give me the strength and courage to move past it more easily. But it is not easy. And I am afraid... Then I feel pathetic... But really, I am not. I would never think that of a different person if I knew they had been through what I have been through so I probably should not think that of myself either. 

I am trying. But damn this is so much harder than one would expect. Learned helplessness and PTSD now added to my repertoire. 

Repertoire of mental health issues to face and overcome. 

I am very grateful I am in a place and have a husband that allows me to take my time, but maybe that too is a double edged sword. It is much easier to hide and avoid if you do not have to face it... Weird how I feel myself relating to demographics I never thought I would ever relate to, like basement boys who resort to gaming for gratification and fulfillment. -or is it safety and security? 

Anyway, here I am again, blogging it out... so that I can avoid what really scares me right now, which is interacting with people and especially with people that have power over me and could help me significantly but that I know are more likely going to be trying to help me as little as they can and do what they can to get out of their obligation to help in the way they are supposed to. 

this is when I just want to curl up -like my dog- and go back to sleep... Gotta fight that. Any suggestions? 

Of course not. You are a silent, invisible and mostly nonexistent audience. Hmmm we have something in common. Not that I am those things, rather that is what I am expected to be. ...and the conditioning just might be working... which is why it is called learned helplessness. 

Set the recored straight

Sometimes I get brave and share this blog with people. Occasionally I even share it on social media. Overall, just like in realtime life, I am overlooked and/or ignored. Which does hurt a little. When I reflect on why that is, I do understand many reasons why. I have done it and been that person myself and it really is not great for people to dwell too much on the topics I bring up. So I get it. But there is one concern I have that I would like to set the record straight on. It is one of the main reasons I speak and why I wish people would not ignore me. It's the subject of suicide. 

I am very qualified to talk about that, and I understand it from many perspectives. Remember, I have a brother who died this way. But I also know the stereotype that may be why people ignore me and that is the record I would like to set straight. 

It is true that there are people in this world who threaten and even make half assed attempts at suicide for attention. For some it may be a legitimate cry for help but for others it really is a form of manipulation. I dare say those of the latter are not nearly as common as people might believe. Kind of like sue happy people who are looking to cash in on medical malpractice. The vast majority of us do not fit those molds and yet within the worlds that these two atypical stereotypes exist the concepts seem to be regarded as the norm rather than the exceptions that they are. This practice is very dangerous for those majorities that don't fit into those overly exaggerated "stereotypes." 

Anyway, my point here and now, is that I have never attempted suicide. I will admit that once, when I was 19, I took a few more of my Paxils (medication) than I should have and maybe had a slight hope that I would not wake up from it, but mostly I just wanted to feel it. I wanted to quiet what was going on inside of me and I wanted to really feel what this drug was doing. I don't really count it as an attempt. Especially since I called poison control (or something like that) almost immediately after when I realized that was a stupid thing to do. I called from a payphone so they could not track me. Basically if it was not too big of a deal, I did not want this impulsive mishap to be brought to the attention of any person I knew. 

Since then I have never done anything that can even be considered an attempt. And I want this to be clear because of how difficult it can be to handle suicidal thoughts and impulses when your chemistry is out of whack. People really have no idea how easy it would be to commit suicide just to quiet what is going on in your broken brain and even to appease what society and people I knew, loved and trusted seemed to want me to be. Suicidal impulses to often are glutinously fed by the way you are so often treated for even discussing them. 

I still feel some fear that the more impulsive suicidal symptoms might someday overcome my rational brain. So I listen to that fear but don't let it dictate. I pay attention to the suicidal thoughts, feelings, impulsive and voices and I treat them as the symptoms they are. 

I do not and have not attempted. 

And I assure you, if I had, or if I do, that is one thing I would be successful at. This is something that people who have never experienced true out of balance chemistry really don't understand. This is why I talk about it and hope that others will share and talk about too. 

Because for those who are truly at risk, you likely have no idea, until it is too late. 

If people dare talk about it, Please listen. And if someone is struggling with a mental illness, please don't ignore. Treat them with compassion, dignity and respect. Help them recognize and get the help they need. Stand up for them when they need it and be willing to intervene when they are falling prey/victim to negative perceptions, stereo-types and mistreatment. They are so much more vulnerable than you know. 

Only time will tell

 Sometimes very small things can be quite surprising. 

I am writing. Working on "the book" that I keep promising random strangers and many people I know that I will write for them.  The story of how my therapist broke me ...and how I may have broken him. A story of forbidden love ...or was it grooming? Regardless, when coupled with an actual, misdiagnosed brain injury, it nearly cost my life. 

Obviously I will need to change names. From this blog you will see that I clearly have trouble committing to substitute names and sometimes I have felt it is too overwhelming a burden to come up with appropriate and fitting replacement names. Especially for Dr. He, JP, Perri Cheri, the master marionette that broke me. I am not feeling that so much anymore. So today as I am reading and revising some of what I have already written I am changing his actual name to what I have decided is an acceptable replacement name. 

And it is rather surprising how satisfying it feels to erase his actual name and put in its place a replacement name. It takes the edge off and redirects my attached emotions that still want me to believe in the illusion created. As I write about it now he is becoming a story and the fictitious person he really was. A fictional character that I am not actually attached to. 

This is a happy and liberating moment for me and I am savoring it. Which is also why I came on here to share. 

Rewriting the story is now taking the edge off. Maybe that is when you are finally ready to take on a previously insurmountable task undertaking. Maybe this how you know it is safe for you to proceed and it is time. 

Time to tell your story. 

and 

Time to write the book. 

Tiny Victories will eventually add up if you keep on fighting, trying, working, practicing. 

and Living.