28 years crushed

I was able to talk to my sister the other day.
The one that is 13 months and 3 days older than I.
We shared a room and just about everything else growing up and she was there (age 13) when I (age 12) sustained the TBI from the tree that my tube collided with upon descending a snow covered path. She was the one who was furious when she saw them pulling my seemingly lifeless body in a sled across the field to the cars. My head rested on her shoulder or lap as she accompanied me home and then to the hospital.  She has never even complained about me throwing up in the car, and then riding to hospital in that car. She had to fill out incident reports and medical histories about me. She listened to me scream from the other room "don't take my clothes off" when they were trying to get me into appropriate hospital attire.
Though it was a closed head injury it caused some swelling that lasted awhile and she remembers my head being swollen and squishy. I remember that part too, but the memory of it doesn't bother me nearly as much.
It was a very traumatic experience for her.
This is my sister who knew me better than anyone. I was often her little shadow. She knew me before the accident and she knew me after. She has always seemed to know better than even myself how the accident had effected me.
She is the sister that saw, through our adolescence and beyond, how the head injury effected friendships and relationships. She watched me struggle and has confessed she wishes she had known how to explain to people what they didn't understand about me; that even though it was me it wasn't really me.
So when I told her of how things had taken a turn with my neuropsychologist,
she was very angry.
She was furious when I told her that at one point in trying to understand all of this, my concussion doctor -after discussing with the neuropsychologist- had suggested that the concussion problems may be secondary to mental illness.
"No, the only reason you have mental illness problems is because of head injury!" she fumed. "They need to understand that"
and she was furious that the office manager treated me the way she had. She was baffled that a place that treats people with neurological conditions would ever think that is a good idea.
She pointed out that they put my life in jeopardy. I explained to my sister that I was no longer in crises when that lady yelled at me, but she pointed out it did not matter and that I was still vulnerable. She is right.
Sometimes we need big sisters to speak up for us.
And it was especially wrong considering I had recently had a manic episode. I do not like to admit things like this and also I have made such huge progress I like to not focus on it as much as possible, but the truth is I have had to be hyper-diligent in fending off and being aware of suicidal thoughts and feelings.
and that is all I want to say about that, because I know enough to know I don't really want to die and if they plague me too much or start tainting other desires I've got loads of tools to fight it... including the antidepressant that my doctor recently doubled my dose of.
But even more than all of this the one thing that my dear sister was able to recognize, the most important thing I tried and have tried to explain to Dr. He, was that that moment of him deciding I was done with TBI related treatment and therapy was actually the beginning of me accepting how TBI was the part of my whole self and the perfectly imperfect part of my life that I need to come to understand and accept in order to really stay connected with my self and feel that I was of value.
In that moment, 28 years of hope were crushed
as he dropped me and then allowed me to be transformed into whatever monster of a liar or "crazy person" his facility has painted me to be, ignoring the fact that head injury is what drove me there and what has been driving me to be heard ever sense.
My sister got it as she put it into the word context of what I was trying to explain "28 years of hope were crushed." She understands the magnitude of this for me.
I cannot just let this go. To do so is to die. I cannot believe that I do not belong or am unwelcome at a neuroscience institution that specializes in treating people with TBI, especially when they were my hope and chance to rewrite the wrongs of abandonment and rejection that had perpetuated the negative effects of my first TBI related emotional regulation difficulties.
The rejection of a man I connected so easily and naturally with and could love in any form is one thing
but coupled with the rejection of my broken brain where it is supposed to be safe and cared for is too much to bare.
So I fight for me.

gaslighting?

I learned a new term today "gaslighting"
I feel intimidated and small, and I question myself.
I am not sure who I can trust and every effort takes immense courage.
But my efforts are being used against me.

...and even in things unrelated to where I feel that gaslighting may have happened
it takes immense courage to put myself out there
... even for the sake of my kids (maybe even more for the sake of my kids, because I don't want to screw things up for them)

Power Struggle?

He rubbed his right eye with his right middle finger
while listening to the song I played to help me express the feelings my mind was blocking me from  expressing
my transference feelings
the stuff that all the online research had told me I "should" discuss with my therapist
(and there it is that word "should" the mistake of my cherished golden map...)
The stuff that skilled therapists looked forward to as it meant their patient was ready to really start making progress.
Safe, trusted, responsible, skilled therapists
he was that to me... I knew he could help me
he was in the position of power
...but I was not willing to give that to him

There is something more to this story. 

How deep or diabolical it is I don’t know 

but I know that amidst the omens of gods and spirit animals 

it is not the time to drop a patient of psychotherapy 

TBI: embracing my "disability" ?

The more I learn about head injuries (TBI- traumatic brain injury) the more I wonder if part of the counter-transference problem is that I am a physical manifestation of his profession and maybe even of his own work. (and a not so bad looking one either) Everything he has dedicated so much of his life to I embody in a real life form. I have developed my own ways to adapt and the more effective ones, I am sure, have mirrored his studies while other adaptations may make him question. But I am a manifestation of longterm outcomes of TBI.
I don't think he wanted to see that in me.
When he said something to the effect of "being willing to take that on" I wonder if that was a negative stigma and prejudice he, himself held, jaded by his education and career. He has to maintain superiority and elevated status?
I felt it was a major slight to me. Am I Michael Bluth's Mr. F?
Maybe.
But I am not less.
I am significant and I could be of value in the industry and to the facility that has so callously turned their back on me.
I know this field. I know TBI. I handled it alone and built a box to keep it contained that, though incredibly flawed, fooled even the best.

Dear Exiling Therapist,

Why did you choose to go this route with me.
To banish me from the hope of recovery
the hope of reconciling my split parts with an understanding of how TBI had effected those splits
To take away any hope of successful reconciliation with anyone
...successful communication
To devalue me so completely.
"you want something to cry about, I'll give you something to cry about"
Do you think I am a fraud in your industry?
Or are you all frauds in your industry?
Is the industry itself a fraud?
I suppose in a very sad way that can give me hope
but can it?...as I continue to fail in my attempts to prove
that I am worth investing in.
Will I ever be given the chance to prove myself or have I already proven myself to my fullest potential
and I need to resign myself to acceptance of this life the way it is and being what everyone else believes it should be.

The Best Way to Kill Fantasy is Through Reality

so it's time to write again... I really have a lot to work through this morning and I thought to put it in my 200 plus page self discovery report but I think I want this one "out there"
I was talking to my sister the other day, who lives a couple of states away. I told her about how the the facility manager treated me when I tried to speak with her when I went in to request a copy of their patient bill of rights. I think I have mentioned this; that she was aggressive and rude, she yelled at me in front of my kids and she refused to provide me with my medical records or a copy of the patients rights and responsibilities. She even left the area code off of the phone # she very begrudgingly provided, a passive aggressive move -I think. I told my sister the details and my sisters simple reply was;
"she's in love with him."
Hmmm... Interesting. Funny thing is, something similar had crossed my mind in my first encounter with her. But it had merely crossed it.
This is something to consider though.
And this is where I struggle to suggest things because I do not think so highly of myself so I may have to take a 3rd person perspective on this one because when I do that I see that this possibility could make sense. I'll write in 1st person but I'm thinking more in an objective 3rd person way.
Is it possible?
If so
This guy had it bad for me
and she is extremely jealous because she either has some sort of relationship with him or wants it. That would make sense why she would behave so incredibly unprofessionally and why she would even cross into the potentially illegal (denying a patient their records and refusing to address complaints or provide them with the information they need to resolve their issues). It would make sense why they would not want to keep me in house and label me with a scarlet letter. It makes sense in that realm with her.

But what about his feelings for me? Could they have been that intense?
He had it bad for me?  Is it possible that while I was hearing that he wanted nothing to do with me -ever- to mean that he did not think I was capable (of helping him, of becoming a therapist myself, of being a friend or anything or even of being his client anymore) or worth his time... maybe he really was professing his profoundly deep but forbidden feelings for me? Maybe he genuinely believes that it was not mania at all but the feelings of those forbidden feelings reciprocated? Maybe it is.
I can not stand that thought. It grips my heart and presses it so hard I am certain I won't survive.
I doubt it because I am too practical and I can easily see so many reasons for a typical transference countertransference or even atypical, but still, not something nearly as soulmate-esque:  It could have simply been that we both love his profession but just from different sides of it and that fascination was misplaced or misinterpreted as a more romantic connection as it was not something either party fully realized or understood. I think this is a very real possibility and something I would love to discus/explore. It makes sense and could be so beneficial to so many people if we could work together to better understand that kind of transference-countertransference scenario.
But alas, I don't imagine that the intrigue of the way I had accommodated and intellectually handled head injury for so long, without formal training or complete understanding of what I was actually dealing with, would get me banned from his facility. Of course they currently have me painted as a Liability so the sad loss of that is yet another failure and lost potential I get to grieve.
...and, though I am just starting my day after a good nights sleep, I am ready to sleep again and my mind is already worn down by the thought of this ridiculous but deeply desired "romantic" connection that I am certain I need to accept as only a product of my manic delusions.
This is why I so desperately want clarification but making so many mistakes in asking for it. This is my most vulnerable confession ...

- January- I know I need to follow up with the concussion doctor if I want to understand this new mood instability but I also know it will be hard to because she is in the same facility as Dr. He.
I am waiting for my name to be called.
A tall middle aged man with longish hair and a beard walks out of the far door with a plain white paper in his hand.
I strain to see the handwriting
I recognize it instantly and it makes me happy. I love that handwriting. [If I were a handwriting analysts I would guess the owner of it were well educated, well disciplined and responsible but also had a playful side and secretly a touch of hopeless romantic at heart.]
I am happy to see he is doing well
and he is helping people.
I am happy for this man because I know he is in the best hands.
I am hopeful that I will catch a glimpse of Dr. He as he comes out to get his next patient. But instead I notice an Asian lady coming out to get a patient... and then she does again. This is unusual, I have never seen that happen before.  This time as she walks by she seems to be staring me down. She at least notices me. I do not know her so I am not sure why. It is awhile before I am called back and Dr. P never comes out.
Finally I am called in. I ask the nurse who is taking me back if I can talk with Dr. He while I am there.
As I try to explain to my concussion doctor my breakdown and current symptoms I struggle.
I am in protection mode, I do not know who I can trust and I do not want to get Dr. He into trouble. I do not want to cause him harm or further complicate his already complex life. I break down and am an emotional mess. I beg to see Cherri, (Cherri since he can no longer be Dr. He to me) because he knows what happened, he will know what to do and how to help me.
"I need him to be real again" I say.
And I do
the manic fed fantasy is destroying me, and I just need to understand it from a rational place, but I need him to be real for that to happen.

It is interpreted differently than that. Evidence that I am "crazy"
But deep down inside I know it is not just me that put me here and I know there is something more to it. I know this because it is new territory for me. I know it because of how it has effected me, my relationships and my thoughts. ...and like it or not we are all connected in this universe and what we do impacts others... Especially when you are intentionally working with the psychology of others.
... so my most vulnerable confession becomes evidence of either how seriously difficult mood instability, head injury, mania, mental illness or whatever it is really can make life for a person
OR
evidence of how counter-transference is being handled or used so carelessly and unscrupulously by facilities and practitioners, the APA, and within the field of psychology.

Depression

this post was drafted in 1/26-ish
Remember the Jesus Man and the night I spent in the waiting room of a mental health facility in Florida?
The next morning when I got to be evaluated I was told that I had depression. Maybe manic was used in there too, and maybe the word clinical. I really don't recall, at that point depression was the only word that I knew so it was the word that stuck. It was quite the conversation and bit of a hard one, especially since I came from my family where you just get over it and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I was not sure how to handle this news and was not sure I wanted to take medication. But I agreed. She was very persuasive and I liked her temperament so I listened and agreed. I also agreed to meet with a lovely psychologist, her name was Peggy (or maybe that was the psychiatrist). It was in talking with her that I learned that it was actually not a normal thing to have thoughts of self destruction and how. She legitimately and authentically answered "no" after giving it some thought when I asked her if she really had never thought about it.
It was mind blowing.
Maybe there really was a medical problem with me.
I also explained how I felt I was being crushed by an anvil like in the cartoons, only it was slow and constant.
I told here about how I wanted to break my brain open so I could see all the pieces and sort out the puzzle that was inside. I explained how I was stuck in indecision because I wanted to do everything and if I started down one path that would keep me from doing the other things and then I'd be missing out on those. She learned about my excessive jobs (I think I held four at the time) and my slew of activities I was involved in during high school. I didn't see her that many times, but I loved her and she was a great source of comfort to me. She helped me be okay with taking medication.
When I arrived back home all the way across the country a few months later, one of the first things I did was head to the library to find out what I could about this "illness" I had been diagnosed with. I think the word manic may have been used because I remember information about that in my stack of books. My stack was at least knee high, probably closer to my waist. One of those stacks that make you think "Wow, I am surprised a public library lets people check out that many books at once."
I renewed them a couple of times.
I will admit I did not fully read all of them, I probably didn't fully read any of them front to back really, but I read a lot. I skimmed to what was most important to know. What would help me. I only skimmed most of the personal stories as I started to feel the sense of hopelessness that was a common theme.
While I learned a lot, like that caffeine and alcohol are major contributors to depression and anxiety, that regular exercise and a healthy diet were important etc., Over all I really did not like how damn depressing they all were. How so much of the writing was there to convince me or my family members that this was going to be a problem for me my entire life.
With much resolve and determination I decided that was not for me. I would not like that to be me. I was not going to let this be a damned lifelong depressing battle.
And though I enjoy some crazy sometimes and I do occasionally go on antidepressant (this most recent because of the car accident) I feel that over all I have beat the hellish depression of my younger days. Even having lost myself and feeling the pain of rejection from some pretty intense situations, I am not depressed, at times delusional, sometimes sad and hurt.  okay, I suppose sometimes I am depressed but I have learned so many coping strategies and know how to identify it, treat it, embrace it, and avoid it as needed. And really I feel quite happy about this. Looking back I can say it sucks and it's hard but I can also say I have learned and gained so much in really truly trying to overcome it and/or work with it. I am a better and happier version of me because of it!
Really, depression is not all bad. :)