A comedy of errors turned into a tragic perpetuation of harm. And all along the way I was begging them to stop the perpetuation of the harm and pain. However they did not want to admit any guilt so it continues as an abuse of power.
"First do no harm" says the APA
and IHC will add "...But if you accidentally do then don't admit it and light those gas powered lamps to burn the evidence up with the patient."
Right now I feel angry.
When medication works, it does not change you, it does not change what has happened, it just changes your chemistry and makes it so you can then handle making the changes that need to be made.
It is so simple.
And it could have been so simple.
It should (spelled correctly) have been so simple!
I was in the right place, trying to doing the right things, going to the right people to try and get the help that I knew I needed. But they kept moving forward in their errors, by covering and denying and trying to pass me off without following through.
Did they know that me getting the help I needed would make me strong enough to stand up for myself and fight back against the mistakes they made?
How deeply disturbing is this debacle?
Are they insurance frauds?
My emotions, more balanced, are most certainly still strong and more powerful in ability with the "right" help.
Which they -now obvious to me- were not.
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Saturday, August 24, 2019
To be or not to be?
...now hopes and dreams fall through
knowing they were fiction just like you;
A dream I believed in that just isn't true
This Little Bluebird -thank you Christina
Reality in simplicity
I am finding my way around.
Feet planting on the ground
Still, do I embrace all parts of me
the imperfectly creative insanity
that beckons me carelessly
and wants so badly to be
a part of me?
and wants to be free...
Like a Bird -thank you Nelly
knowing they were fiction just like you;
A dream I believed in that just isn't true
This Little Bluebird -thank you Christina
Reality in simplicity
I am finding my way around.
Feet planting on the ground
Still, do I embrace all parts of me
the imperfectly creative insanity
that beckons me carelessly
and wants so badly to be
a part of me?
and wants to be free...
Like a Bird -thank you Nelly
The Road Less Traveled
...slow at processing new things.
He was giving me knew information. Important. I was psychologically processing through some PTSD so processing as a child and an adult.
This new information replays over and over-
that is a trick I have learned-
to help me process new information.
and I link it to things I know
connecting it to prior knowledge.
I am very good at this,
It is the strength of my creativity
I think it comes from my being forced to use the surface streets of my mental infrastructure.
then finding that I liked the scenic route.
I found it pleasant, enjoyable, enlightening
So I have used my surface streets far more than is common.
Ever discovering more along the way
Maybe this has hurt the building of the efficient super highways,
But I have found so many hidden treasures and
besides
my super highways are so deeply rutted with negative thinking
I will always fall into those deep ruts of negativity and be stuck on that track if I return to them
So I avoid those.
they don't get fixed
while I enjoy the side streets.
It is not super efficient
so I am slow at processing new information...
But I keep going and I have figured out how to drive in circles until I can learn them if I need to,
circles that, at times, confuse my guest instructors, because I am still driving and I am connecting even though I haven't really figured it out yet.
But I keep going
Paying attention to how they connect.
and they do-
connect to prior knowledge-
This is also a teaching strategy -scaffolding
So
New information is where I got stuck. New information he was giving me.
I looked for connections. there were some and there were none.
Prior knowledge suggests abuse, manipulation, rejection, self preservation
or (maybe and/or) fairytale and fantasy...
The words, the feelings, the drug that he was
These are new things to me. I have not experienced anything quite like this before...
...here is something deeply personal that (in my sanity) I am reluctant to disclose -because then people really think you crazy,- but this is my safe place, so I pray you be kind in your judgements.
Something that I felt there was close to what I felt so very long ago, in the dream that I had as a child, where I felt God's inexplicable and incomprehensible love, the love that changed how everything felt -not as much then when I was a child but -as I aged. A love that you would do anything to return to but simply cannot... because you are mortal and human and meant to be just that.
So those are connections to that new information I was receiving but too slow to process...
What is it?
And what do I do with it?
That intensity doesn't just simply burn out
Thus, he is, admittedly, like a god and devil to me and the taboo's, forbidden, his denials and refusal to discuss, even his protecting and covering his ass, they feed that misconception and it seems to grow overtime.
You see, when the very human element (that he perceived as the problem) is missing form the equation the only connections I (a human) can make are manipulation, abuse, self-preservation, rejection, fairytales, fantasy, and/or otherworldly thus perpetuating and growing that touch of human insanity.
But as I think and review... from my processing place anew, I know, though to his embarrassment and maybe in spite of himself, -maybe still as a groomer,- he had developed feelings and chemistry was a part of this equation.
So my god of this world, the one who can actually physiologically change me, had feelings for me... and what do I do with that? Again...
I thought he only had as much power over me as I allowed him to have
but maybe I am wrong
-Oh dear kiwi god,
Please release me from my fantasy.
Let me be rational again. Please be real and human again.-
...And maybe Dr. She is right, I have been dealing with this crazy my entire life... compounded, complicated by TBI... Or did that actually knock some sense into me and that is why I am not full blown, talking-to-God kind of crazy?
Oh the joys of the side streets and the adventures to be had when we go off the beaten path.
and further still into this analogy
another possibility
Maybe I am the god of his world
burdened under the weight he put on me.
Do I tell or let it be?
I have the responsibility to hold him up by letting go at my expense
or put down his world, passing it off to the false gods of DOPL and APA
...because I am not a god
and I don't want to be the judge
the weight of his world is crushing me.
Is his world out of balance and I need to speaking out for my sake, his sake and/or other clients
to help bring it back to ethically
Yin and Yang
what is my place?
...too deep, I could get him into trouble...
too deep, I could get me into trouble?
too deep, I was in trouble
He was giving me knew information. Important. I was psychologically processing through some PTSD so processing as a child and an adult.
This new information replays over and over-
that is a trick I have learned-
to help me process new information.
and I link it to things I know
connecting it to prior knowledge.
I am very good at this,
It is the strength of my creativity
I think it comes from my being forced to use the surface streets of my mental infrastructure.
then finding that I liked the scenic route.
I found it pleasant, enjoyable, enlightening
So I have used my surface streets far more than is common.
Ever discovering more along the way
Maybe this has hurt the building of the efficient super highways,
But I have found so many hidden treasures and
besides
my super highways are so deeply rutted with negative thinking
I will always fall into those deep ruts of negativity and be stuck on that track if I return to them
So I avoid those.
they don't get fixed
while I enjoy the side streets.
It is not super efficient
so I am slow at processing new information...
But I keep going and I have figured out how to drive in circles until I can learn them if I need to,
circles that, at times, confuse my guest instructors, because I am still driving and I am connecting even though I haven't really figured it out yet.
But I keep going
Paying attention to how they connect.
and they do-
connect to prior knowledge-
This is also a teaching strategy -scaffolding
So
New information is where I got stuck. New information he was giving me.
I looked for connections. there were some and there were none.
Prior knowledge suggests abuse, manipulation, rejection, self preservation
or (maybe and/or) fairytale and fantasy...
The words, the feelings, the drug that he was
These are new things to me. I have not experienced anything quite like this before...
...here is something deeply personal that (in my sanity) I am reluctant to disclose -because then people really think you crazy,- but this is my safe place, so I pray you be kind in your judgements.
Something that I felt there was close to what I felt so very long ago, in the dream that I had as a child, where I felt God's inexplicable and incomprehensible love, the love that changed how everything felt -not as much then when I was a child but -as I aged. A love that you would do anything to return to but simply cannot... because you are mortal and human and meant to be just that.
So those are connections to that new information I was receiving but too slow to process...
What is it?
And what do I do with it?
That intensity doesn't just simply burn out
Thus, he is, admittedly, like a god and devil to me and the taboo's, forbidden, his denials and refusal to discuss, even his protecting and covering his ass, they feed that misconception and it seems to grow overtime.
You see, when the very human element (that he perceived as the problem) is missing form the equation the only connections I (a human) can make are manipulation, abuse, self-preservation, rejection, fairytales, fantasy, and/or otherworldly thus perpetuating and growing that touch of human insanity.
But as I think and review... from my processing place anew, I know, though to his embarrassment and maybe in spite of himself, -maybe still as a groomer,- he had developed feelings and chemistry was a part of this equation.
So my god of this world, the one who can actually physiologically change me, had feelings for me... and what do I do with that? Again...
I thought he only had as much power over me as I allowed him to have
but maybe I am wrong
-Oh dear kiwi god,
Please release me from my fantasy.
Let me be rational again. Please be real and human again.-
...And maybe Dr. She is right, I have been dealing with this crazy my entire life... compounded, complicated by TBI... Or did that actually knock some sense into me and that is why I am not full blown, talking-to-God kind of crazy?
Oh the joys of the side streets and the adventures to be had when we go off the beaten path.
and further still into this analogy
another possibility
Maybe I am the god of his world
burdened under the weight he put on me.
Do I tell or let it be?
I have the responsibility to hold him up by letting go at my expense
or put down his world, passing it off to the false gods of DOPL and APA
...because I am not a god
and I don't want to be the judge
the weight of his world is crushing me.
Is his world out of balance and I need to speaking out for my sake, his sake and/or other clients
to help bring it back to ethically
Yin and Yang
what is my place?
...too deep, I could get him into trouble...
too deep, I could get me into trouble?
too deep, I was in trouble
the Kintsugi Artist
I need her to accept that I am broken. She and he wanted me to believe that I am not. ...maybe it is because he believed I was not that I feel she needs to believe that I am, maybe I just need things to play out this way for my own head, but while she believes I am not broken I need her to understand that I am.
and here is why
Kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with a very strong glue that includes gold.
I need her to be the artist and repairman to put me back together in a more solid and beautiful way. When she says I am not broken she may be speaking truth because she, the skilled expert, sees me as the pieces of a whole and easily repaired, but I know I am in pieces and hearing that -me being the unskilled vessel- does not understand what she is saying. I do not know if I can trust that she will be able to find all the pieces and put me back together properly if she does not see and acknowledge that I am in shards of me.
Unlike the pottery of Kintsugi, I am a living, breathing, thinking being and I have to trust my artist, I have to, in essence, allow her to do her job. I cannot if she does not see me for what I am.
And I am broken
the evidence is in
my job history
my confidence
my relationships
my rejections
my inability to follow through
how I isolate myself
my identity crises
my tears that come so damn frequently that I am not even embarrassed by them anymore.
Those tears that happen everywhere and are triggered so easily. This is not the first time in my life, though it is the longest and the most.
Broken because I know, that if every person or even half, had tears spilling out as much as I do I would never be the only one at the grocery store failing in their fight to hold them back... and guess what, I have, for these last so many months, been the only one. I know because I secretly look for it, studying, researching, because I think I can't possibly be that different. But I have rarely -over so many years- noticed people fighting back tears and failing the way I do. For many many years I had it beat, but no more, and now it's so much worse. So bad that I am not even embarrassed by it.
Why bother being so? I'd never be able to get anything done if I held onto that embarrassment.
And the weird thing about now, the biggest difference, is that they just come so randomly, so easily triggered by the simplest things, while -really- I am hardly feeling, as they well and run. Hardly feeling compared to what it was when I was young. But maybe the intensity of the tears then was magnified by my fighting so hard to contain them. Maybe that is why they flowed less, but I felt more.
I don't really know but my dear sister agreed, it's not normal and there is definitely something "wrong" if that is happening so regularly.
Wrong hmmm... You see, I prefer broken. I would rather be broken then have something wrong with me.
Broken feels fixable,
wrong feels innately flawed and expendable.
and here is why
Kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with a very strong glue that includes gold.
I need her to be the artist and repairman to put me back together in a more solid and beautiful way. When she says I am not broken she may be speaking truth because she, the skilled expert, sees me as the pieces of a whole and easily repaired, but I know I am in pieces and hearing that -me being the unskilled vessel- does not understand what she is saying. I do not know if I can trust that she will be able to find all the pieces and put me back together properly if she does not see and acknowledge that I am in shards of me.
Unlike the pottery of Kintsugi, I am a living, breathing, thinking being and I have to trust my artist, I have to, in essence, allow her to do her job. I cannot if she does not see me for what I am.
And I am broken
the evidence is in
my job history
my confidence
my relationships
my rejections
my inability to follow through
how I isolate myself
my identity crises
my tears that come so damn frequently that I am not even embarrassed by them anymore.
Those tears that happen everywhere and are triggered so easily. This is not the first time in my life, though it is the longest and the most.
Broken because I know, that if every person or even half, had tears spilling out as much as I do I would never be the only one at the grocery store failing in their fight to hold them back... and guess what, I have, for these last so many months, been the only one. I know because I secretly look for it, studying, researching, because I think I can't possibly be that different. But I have rarely -over so many years- noticed people fighting back tears and failing the way I do. For many many years I had it beat, but no more, and now it's so much worse. So bad that I am not even embarrassed by it.
Why bother being so? I'd never be able to get anything done if I held onto that embarrassment.
And the weird thing about now, the biggest difference, is that they just come so randomly, so easily triggered by the simplest things, while -really- I am hardly feeling, as they well and run. Hardly feeling compared to what it was when I was young. But maybe the intensity of the tears then was magnified by my fighting so hard to contain them. Maybe that is why they flowed less, but I felt more.
I don't really know but my dear sister agreed, it's not normal and there is definitely something "wrong" if that is happening so regularly.
Wrong hmmm... You see, I prefer broken. I would rather be broken then have something wrong with me.
Broken feels fixable,
wrong feels innately flawed and expendable.
Friday, August 23, 2019
Sorry, not sorry, but I am an artist now!
 |
| A purple cloud took on a life of it's own. |
And as I analyze my thoughts and actions in these moments, I wonder, "Is this really productive? Is this really helping me? or am I just feeding crazy?"
Truthfully; I don't think I care. I am enjoying this writing journey, and I am enjoying the painting portions too.
So maybe I will chase that dream for awhile. Pretend I am an artist of words and paint. An author and an illustrator. Writing for my life, Painting for my pain.
And I can chase the dream more fervently, without fear of rejection, because I already know that
I am not an artist.
Maybe here the rejection won't hurt so bad, because here, in this space, I know I don't belong and that is what I have to offer.
Diversity.
And the therapy of it all.
Embracing your perfectly imperfect even when others do not.
So chase away
A dream to play
In the field where I don't belong
 |
| An intentionalish painting of an open mind. |
Therapist= The-rapist: penetrating and impregnating the mind
The psychiatric PA-C asked who is overseeing the head injury stuff.
This is a painful question to try and answer.
"Nobody." Because those who were helping me manage that, who were hired to oversee that, felt I was too big a Liability to them and thus dropped me. Dr. Concussion felt I needed a new team and said she would help me find one. Alas, she most certainly did not. And so my answer is "nobody."
Psychiatric PA-C does not think that is a good idea. She thinks I need a neurologist, she would like me to have one to manage and over see this care. ...And she doesn't even know about the shaky left hand that I have avoided facing. ...that Concussion Dr. suggested I see a neurologist about but did not want to refer for.
Today I had another appointment with new neuropsychologist.
I am curious about the new drug and how it is effecting me. I feel rather tired but it is also settling my brain, and that is nice. I was happy that the day before I didn't cry at all ...well at least outside of therapy anyway, and believe it or not, that is big progress at this point.
In my appointment with new neuropsychologist, Dr. She: Even though the brain feels it is settling it is still moving rapidly in multiple directions causing my words to spill out sloppily as I try to explain, get to the point, and head in a productive direction. I am not so sure I am in the right place or utilizing my therapy time wisely.
She listens patiently and then when I seem to loose track of what I am saying and where I am going with it she steps in. Asks a few questions, helps me get somewhere, and then lays out a plane.
I am feeling calm as she speaks and her plan makes perfect sense. I think the medication is already helping to settle things...but it all seems too easy. I tell her this; that it all seems too easy, and then I add, "I don't know if I trust it."
She seems to understand that, but is not terribly worried, so neither am I, though I am really and truly uncertain about trusting this. It is time to say goodbye, so I'll see her next week.
After: I get to meet my sister for lunch. I have not seen my sister for months. In fact, I think the last I saw her was when she came with me to an appointment with Concussion Dr. I wanted someone there because I was obviously making mistakes in my interpretations of things and I wanted another set of ears and hopefully a more rational brain present on my behalf. -I really should have had someone with me much more frequently, but that is not a luxury I have.- Back-on-track-
I have been feeling some hurt and anger toward Big Sister because of how she and her husband had responded to some texts and my asking for help in understanding and resolving my situation. She seemed to think I was caught up in how I had been wronged when I was really trying to justify my battle for my self worth... the battle I was loosing as IHC and Dr. He kept writing me off, unwilling to talk to me, unwilling to hear, unwilling to discuss what was going on with my head and why, but perfectly willing to continue to charge me for the treatment and care they refused to discuss.
I was loosing my battle of self worth with every hit from the industry that was set up to help protect me. So I am sure that didn't help my interpretation of texts from my sweet sister and I new that getting together would likely help set those hurt feelings straight.
It did.
We had great conversation about many things.
However the part of the conversation I wish to share pertains to my previous points. As I was telling her about the medication and the new therapist I explained the feelings of calm and hopeful and how I wasn't sure if I could trust it. Big Sister thought I was not sure if I trusted the medicine, but as I was speaking with her I realized what I was feeling distrustful of; it was new therapist. It was probably a small form of transference. The calm, the safe the hopeful, I felt that so very much with Dr. P. and I trusted him so completely... So very completely. He was so comfortable to me. I needed his calm demeanor and I loved him for it... But he could not handle that, he could not handle me needing him, so he dropped me, to protect himself, because I am too difficult, too much... That is what I feel now, in this moment.
So, that is what I do not trust. I do not trust her and I do not trust me, because of the relationship with he.
Hopefully I can get over that quickly with the help of new god-doctor, Dr. She.
Or should I retreat, and protect? Isolate myself?
It seems so easy, as I am lulled off into another fantasy dream of fixed and well. "I am not broken, I am standing, walking and talking," she tells me. And I am, she is right. But am I really not broken?
This sounds something like "accept your perfectly imperfect"
And here I am...
My thoughts penetrated
and then impregnated
by the man who would not stick around
to see it through.
Pulled out to late and yet too soon
The love child of the fertile
left to grow alone in fiction fed by forbiddens, taboos, cliches, and mania
Long overdue this stubborn bastard being
Will you be born or reborn and what will you become?
Will you stay in?
A parasite? sucking the host until there is nothing more to suck, tethered into every major organ and event?
Or can the midwife help birth the spawn of satan from her profession so we can return him to his father.
Oh my lovely imagination. You get carried away sometimes. Today I will embrace. I am properly medicated by the way, and crazy, maybe not broken, but certainly crazy, delusional about how delusional I am not, Thank you IHC for that justification.
Time to stop. I am not sure I am even making sense to myself anymore, but at least I am smiling.
so good evening.
... But can't you just see, me and Dr. He, the day that he broke me? As I am bleeding out the buried me and embracing my insanity; Heeding Dr. He's advice to uncover the buried me and embrace my perfectly imperfect, -the me that is breaking free he is starting to see. Can you see him saying to himself while hoping to flee, "Oh shit, she is one of those. Never mind, I take it all back. Your perfectly imperfect really is unacceptable."
"Bury her, let her burn out, whatever you need, but keep that crazy siren away from me."
Replay... the loop... begins again.
No conversation for clarification when I could actually handle it. No negotiation. It's their way and the highway if you have a mind like mine that got lost on the sides streets long ago.
and oh the embarrassment for poor Dr. He in the event that he actually had developed feelings for me. Countertransference with that crazy ass chick? Yeah, I'd hide it and deny it also.
And now a song comes to mind that my 2nd sister shared with me the other day, it is by Lilly Allen... I won't quote it.
This is a painful question to try and answer.
"Nobody." Because those who were helping me manage that, who were hired to oversee that, felt I was too big a Liability to them and thus dropped me. Dr. Concussion felt I needed a new team and said she would help me find one. Alas, she most certainly did not. And so my answer is "nobody."
Psychiatric PA-C does not think that is a good idea. She thinks I need a neurologist, she would like me to have one to manage and over see this care. ...And she doesn't even know about the shaky left hand that I have avoided facing. ...that Concussion Dr. suggested I see a neurologist about but did not want to refer for.
Today I had another appointment with new neuropsychologist.
I am curious about the new drug and how it is effecting me. I feel rather tired but it is also settling my brain, and that is nice. I was happy that the day before I didn't cry at all ...well at least outside of therapy anyway, and believe it or not, that is big progress at this point.
In my appointment with new neuropsychologist, Dr. She: Even though the brain feels it is settling it is still moving rapidly in multiple directions causing my words to spill out sloppily as I try to explain, get to the point, and head in a productive direction. I am not so sure I am in the right place or utilizing my therapy time wisely.
She listens patiently and then when I seem to loose track of what I am saying and where I am going with it she steps in. Asks a few questions, helps me get somewhere, and then lays out a plane.
I am feeling calm as she speaks and her plan makes perfect sense. I think the medication is already helping to settle things...but it all seems too easy. I tell her this; that it all seems too easy, and then I add, "I don't know if I trust it."
She seems to understand that, but is not terribly worried, so neither am I, though I am really and truly uncertain about trusting this. It is time to say goodbye, so I'll see her next week.
After: I get to meet my sister for lunch. I have not seen my sister for months. In fact, I think the last I saw her was when she came with me to an appointment with Concussion Dr. I wanted someone there because I was obviously making mistakes in my interpretations of things and I wanted another set of ears and hopefully a more rational brain present on my behalf. -I really should have had someone with me much more frequently, but that is not a luxury I have.- Back-on-track-
I have been feeling some hurt and anger toward Big Sister because of how she and her husband had responded to some texts and my asking for help in understanding and resolving my situation. She seemed to think I was caught up in how I had been wronged when I was really trying to justify my battle for my self worth... the battle I was loosing as IHC and Dr. He kept writing me off, unwilling to talk to me, unwilling to hear, unwilling to discuss what was going on with my head and why, but perfectly willing to continue to charge me for the treatment and care they refused to discuss.
I was loosing my battle of self worth with every hit from the industry that was set up to help protect me. So I am sure that didn't help my interpretation of texts from my sweet sister and I new that getting together would likely help set those hurt feelings straight.
It did.
We had great conversation about many things.
However the part of the conversation I wish to share pertains to my previous points. As I was telling her about the medication and the new therapist I explained the feelings of calm and hopeful and how I wasn't sure if I could trust it. Big Sister thought I was not sure if I trusted the medicine, but as I was speaking with her I realized what I was feeling distrustful of; it was new therapist. It was probably a small form of transference. The calm, the safe the hopeful, I felt that so very much with Dr. P. and I trusted him so completely... So very completely. He was so comfortable to me. I needed his calm demeanor and I loved him for it... But he could not handle that, he could not handle me needing him, so he dropped me, to protect himself, because I am too difficult, too much... That is what I feel now, in this moment.
So, that is what I do not trust. I do not trust her and I do not trust me, because of the relationship with he.
Hopefully I can get over that quickly with the help of new god-doctor, Dr. She.
Or should I retreat, and protect? Isolate myself?
It seems so easy, as I am lulled off into another fantasy dream of fixed and well. "I am not broken, I am standing, walking and talking," she tells me. And I am, she is right. But am I really not broken?
This sounds something like "accept your perfectly imperfect"
And here I am...
My thoughts penetrated
and then impregnated
by the man who would not stick around
to see it through.
Pulled out to late and yet too soon
The love child of the fertile
left to grow alone in fiction fed by forbiddens, taboos, cliches, and mania
Long overdue this stubborn bastard being
Will you be born or reborn and what will you become?
Will you stay in?
A parasite? sucking the host until there is nothing more to suck, tethered into every major organ and event?
Or can the midwife help birth the spawn of satan from her profession so we can return him to his father.
Oh my lovely imagination. You get carried away sometimes. Today I will embrace. I am properly medicated by the way, and crazy, maybe not broken, but certainly crazy, delusional about how delusional I am not, Thank you IHC for that justification.
Time to stop. I am not sure I am even making sense to myself anymore, but at least I am smiling.
so good evening.
... But can't you just see, me and Dr. He, the day that he broke me? As I am bleeding out the buried me and embracing my insanity; Heeding Dr. He's advice to uncover the buried me and embrace my perfectly imperfect, -the me that is breaking free he is starting to see. Can you see him saying to himself while hoping to flee, "Oh shit, she is one of those. Never mind, I take it all back. Your perfectly imperfect really is unacceptable."
"Bury her, let her burn out, whatever you need, but keep that crazy siren away from me."
Replay... the loop... begins again.
No conversation for clarification when I could actually handle it. No negotiation. It's their way and the highway if you have a mind like mine that got lost on the sides streets long ago.
and oh the embarrassment for poor Dr. He in the event that he actually had developed feelings for me. Countertransference with that crazy ass chick? Yeah, I'd hide it and deny it also.
And now a song comes to mind that my 2nd sister shared with me the other day, it is by Lilly Allen... I won't quote it.
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
solved, solving, and unsolved mysteries. And stupid ones to.
I met with the psychiatric PA-C. I have been nervous to meet with her and she looked very young. But she was pretty great.
I will tell you it is mentally exhausting trying to explain myself. And truthfully I don't think I have ever sought as thorough help as I am now. I am tired. My brain is tired.
And I am tired of the flood of tears that comes so frequently and often unexpectedly. Today as I tried to rehash I remembered even more than I had when I was remembering and trying so hard, while also trying to protect, to help the Neuroscience Institute to see that I needed their help much more than I had realized or even wanted to admit to myself.
She is seeing me, and listening, and she is not trying to send me away because she thinks I am too much or she thinks that I will be fine because I have been able to manage... or because she is afraid of me.
She wants me to return in two weeks. She wants me to see a neurologist. She wants to help me find one because she does not think I should be left alone to handle this. She wants my records. She wants to know and understand and she wants to help me.
I hope that this time the medical helpers I am finding are sincere. That they won't break me more then abandon me.
PA-Looks-too-Young understands what I am talking about when I mention mania. She seems to understand that, while I was not hospitalized, it was hard on my brain. She seems to understand how I could seem so okay, and how it could be fun, exhilarating, and even how Dr. Cheri's not addressing it but rather addressing the transference countertransference topic could lead me to a different place but not solve the problem. She understands that I believed him and thought I was really going to be okay, that it was not mania, it was something else.
...But even then, I knew. I knew the up was too high and I could not maintain. I knew I would have to come down and as high as I was the down would be harsh. I knew I could not "not solve this" because if I stopped trying to solve for even a moment I could loose my tight, but thin, grasp on my sanity that was pulling away with astronomical leverage. I knew he was missing something. He was wrong. I tried so hard to tell him, to tell others, but alas, the my not-actually-as-tight-as-I-had-thought grasp on sanity made this insanely difficult to communicate. ...which you think would be a clue. And I am certain it was... But him for me, that was the exchange, they felt was necessary. I would very much like to know who or what they thought were or exchanging with? Why the felt they could not protect both of us?
That, to me, is still a mystery.
...And stupid. It is also stupid to me.
And -just one more thing- reliving this story trying to get the help I need to stabilize and understand what is going on with my head, this far down the road and after so many failed attempts with the ones who should have known but didn't want to help me, is exhausting.
I am tired.
and they perpetuated harm.
again and again.
I will tell you it is mentally exhausting trying to explain myself. And truthfully I don't think I have ever sought as thorough help as I am now. I am tired. My brain is tired.
And I am tired of the flood of tears that comes so frequently and often unexpectedly. Today as I tried to rehash I remembered even more than I had when I was remembering and trying so hard, while also trying to protect, to help the Neuroscience Institute to see that I needed their help much more than I had realized or even wanted to admit to myself.
She is seeing me, and listening, and she is not trying to send me away because she thinks I am too much or she thinks that I will be fine because I have been able to manage... or because she is afraid of me.
She wants me to return in two weeks. She wants me to see a neurologist. She wants to help me find one because she does not think I should be left alone to handle this. She wants my records. She wants to know and understand and she wants to help me.
I hope that this time the medical helpers I am finding are sincere. That they won't break me more then abandon me.
PA-Looks-too-Young understands what I am talking about when I mention mania. She seems to understand that, while I was not hospitalized, it was hard on my brain. She seems to understand how I could seem so okay, and how it could be fun, exhilarating, and even how Dr. Cheri's not addressing it but rather addressing the transference countertransference topic could lead me to a different place but not solve the problem. She understands that I believed him and thought I was really going to be okay, that it was not mania, it was something else.
...But even then, I knew. I knew the up was too high and I could not maintain. I knew I would have to come down and as high as I was the down would be harsh. I knew I could not "not solve this" because if I stopped trying to solve for even a moment I could loose my tight, but thin, grasp on my sanity that was pulling away with astronomical leverage. I knew he was missing something. He was wrong. I tried so hard to tell him, to tell others, but alas, the my not-actually-as-tight-as-I-had-thought grasp on sanity made this insanely difficult to communicate. ...which you think would be a clue. And I am certain it was... But him for me, that was the exchange, they felt was necessary. I would very much like to know who or what they thought were or exchanging with? Why the felt they could not protect both of us?
That, to me, is still a mystery.
...And stupid. It is also stupid to me.
And -just one more thing- reliving this story trying to get the help I need to stabilize and understand what is going on with my head, this far down the road and after so many failed attempts with the ones who should have known but didn't want to help me, is exhausting.
I am tired.
and they perpetuated harm.
again and again.
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