the Challenge to Changing Perceptions

Another reason for this blog is to document, educate and share in hopes that it may reach and help others. The sharing part may be a bit of a hyperbole because I am very selective with whom and when I share it and most never find the time or care to read it anyway. But I do share and I am fine with others sharing, though I know it is receives very limited views. So, I suppose, in reality it is mostly for me and my processing to stay sane.
Which is a long lead into what I came on here to write about today.
Mania
Mania is a tricky and very interesting place. I am sure it can be quite different for different people and I am certain that many conditions, details, and situations from each person's life can effect it and how the person experiencing responds and handles it. I have a feeling that most people are capable of reaching this culminating life event but I am certain the threshold is different for everyone. The neurologist Dr. Odd said something like that about seizures, I think mania is probably similar in that way.
This is something that I think is important to understand.
I also am fairly certain that is it a type of culminating event. Everything comes together, you have super powers, your are and understand everything while everything is breaking all at the same time.
Lately, as I realize I am still trying to piece together reality, I have been thinking, "A person really does not understand reality/their reality until they have broken from it or been broken by it." And when that happens you realize what your family really is and how they really handle things. You realize just how few friends you really have and how little we really can trust each other yet how much we actually need each other. The duality of reality and our human nature becomes very apparent. I suppose this not surprising considering that manic episodes and the bipolar reality is the extreme manifestation of duality.
here's a thought: Maybe manic breaks are simply a mirrored reflection of the duality surrounding us. As I think of my manic break and the few others I know that have had true manic episodes I see that those episodes were in extremes and reflective of the extremes. Maybe manics are actually the ones that are more in touch with reality and not the opposite.
I do believe there might be some truth to that.
But I'll try to get back to my intentions and focus on what I really came on here to talk about.
In my mania, very intense feelings and trust were played with. I broke at a time when a man was helping me to bring out and understand my buried story and TBI PTSD stuff. Part of that buried stuff was the hypo-manic and mood instability I had experienced in younger years. I had buried that stuff deep and it is no wonder; it is not acceptable in the "real world." And I know to well the stigmatizing and the ostracizing. Hell, I even did it to myself. It was better to bury it deep and forget about it.
But the TBI of the auto accident started bringing back memories. Initially it was not the memories of the Lamictal, giraffe spots, mania associated with let down, my blog, and bipolar like symptoms that I had worked hard to manage and avoid diagnosis of. No, initially is was the PTSD kind of memories; the reliving of symptoms and problems that had been more associated with the previous TBI than I had ever realized.  I was becoming aware of just how alone and misunderstood I really had been as a teen. With the reliving of symptoms but managing them in a muscle memory kind of way that made me appear to be doing better than I really was, I was becoming so painfully aware of just how much TBI really had effected my life.
And it was painful.
But, compounding the problem even further, the injury sights of both TBI's are area's of the brain that can profoundly effect mood stability and impulse control. -Good thing I had so much experience with that already, that I had been raised to strictly adhere to high standards, and I have above average intelligence. With those attributes I am certain I have faired better than I would be otherwise, though I will admit I have found significant peace in allowing myself to let go, to some degree, of my rigid conditioning and standards and in allowing myself to be human.
As I continue to digress I might as well point out what many have lateral thinkers have pointed out to me lately: Most people think very laterally and I don't so much. My thinking is pulling, noticing, connecting and jumping a lot. I have noticed this seems to be a common attribute amongst TBI survivors. My friend Renee often calls it "kersplat-splat." In our neuroplasticity we had to take the scenic route and maybe others, like me, unconsciously decided that they like the scenic routes. Sometimes this is really a valuable ability, sometimes it causes us problems. Working backwards can help.
But right now, I think, what I am really doing is dodging and maybe a bit avoiding the internal work I am hoping this blog entry can help me with.
So this blog entry will be long, but also jam packed if you care to stick with me and try to follow.
back on track; to the mania that was triggered by and played with by a man that had much more power over me than I ever would allow on purpose or that care to admit...
In those breaking moments I understood better what was happening than I feel like I do now. Now it is so convoluted and my brain got so confused by how it was handled. Every time they told me I could not talk to him it was a manifestation of his profound and intense attraction to me. Logically I knew this was not true, not accurate, but my broken brain and very fragile stability, and my very broken heart kept grabbing hold of those ridiculous romantic ideas. Maybe simply to save my life because the reality of the rejection was literally killing me. You may want to blame and victim shame, but in his position of power and influence over me, and because I needed, trusted, and loved him so much, things he said ruminated and I could not entirely deny, even in my logical brain that their may be some truth to that fairytale fantasy that wanted to consume me.
And now I am finding I am having trouble writing my mind the way I intended... It is so very difficult to explain mania, especially moderately managed mania...
So maybe I won't worry about that but rather focus on the things I have to notice, the things I have to do to try and figure out my reality and ground myself in it. It is sad and too bad to me that I have to focus on negatives, that I have to find the faults in this man and the institution and then keep reminding my brain of them so that I can detach and live without them. I have to grab hold of every hint that he really did not care or that he might be a grooming psychologist, the hints and likely hoods that I was not something special to him and that he has possibly done this before. It is sad that I have tpofault him for things he said that were harsh toward others including his children and me.
In the beginning, when I realized, in my phases of waking up from mania -which is also, unfortunately, a downward spiral into depression in addition to a continued digression of sanity- I recognized the way he had worded things as neither confirmed nor denied but implied and I recognized that he may have intentionally used the things he said and the way he said them to manipulate me to protect himself. Seeing this, I found myself wondering exactly what type of creature I really was dealing with. I resorted to researching this mysterious man, and not terribly surprising, he is not very visible online. But there were some clues. My poor broken and manic fed heart still grabbed hold of everything endearing and any evidence of the profound love I seemed to have felt going both directions. While my messy, broken, childlike brain, that was trying to handle flooding memories and realizations in addition to the bipolar cycling, tried to discern and determine if there was anything to my findings and what to do about it.
... and as I attempt to share and confess, I find my brain and heart are still fighting and I am still maybe not wanting to pick apart this man that I know does not feel toward me what I thought I felt and even if he had, he does not any longer.
I know he his flawed and I can see, in such subtle little hints (Shaun White) evidence of what may have been going on psychologically with him and potential reasons for his countertransference with me, but I also know, that I really don't know and maybe I really don't want to think I do.
But there is also a part of me that says, "I know boys like you," and I am actually out of his league.* Not in the trophy girl kind of way that people usually think of but is that why he messed with me, drinking up my flattery and taking advantage of my brokenness? Having grown into himself is this a form of retaliation for all the girls that were out of his league? (* I would like to be clear here, though I feel this to some extent, I do not necessarily believe that I am out of his league -it is merely something to consider)
I don't know and maybe I flatter myself. But regardless...
I hurt for him. I hurt for his family. I wish I understood what happened and why he played with me the way he did, why he denied the mania -spirit animals, emails, laughing, overly confident, easily sidetracked to whatever direction he took, too intense, too quick to reply when I did not know really know why or even what I was implying...
I know he played with me. I know he was afraid he could lose his license because of me, but I did not understand why. I know he was afraid of me, and that he could not handle me or did not want to. I was too much for him once I went manic or he was using that to his advantage.  That much I knew and still know.
That is real.
It is also real that he said he didn't need/want anymore friends and that he was going to "let it burn out." It is also real that he told me about himself, though those may have been manipulations, while I held boundaries and would not share things I felt would feed that attraction.
It is also real that he is not what I thought and I knew that but needed to see it and needed him to show and tell me that once I had broken and when I was trying to figure out reality. I needed him to set me straight in my misunderstandings.
This is not what I meant to write, I meant to point out his flaws, the things I see and tell myself to help me see him in a different light, one that is not so flattering and breaks the strange longing that is not entirely gone. But I just don't want to.
Why?
do I still want to hold on? or is it that I don't want to be unkind? or is it that I still have tenacious but confused hope of reconciliation with the institute and he that should not have exiled me?
Or is it simply because mania is intense and the feelings and experience of it are not easily forgotten and/or dismissed?
I do know I am likely more forgiving than the people I feel I have to report to because of how I was treated and how all of this was handled... I have found legal help because I want it done right and accountability is important but the waiting part of this is very difficult, especially for my impulse-control challenged mind.

The good news

"You get more of what you focus on."
I know this adage/ cliché and it holds a lot of truth and power to it.
My dear Managed Manic Magnificence friend reminded me of this in conversation today. She was not intentionally trying to remind me of this, which is nice, it just got me thinking and remembering. And I thought about this here blog, my processing blog. This blog often turns into my venting and maybe ranting space, and it does helps me reset, so to me it is good. But I also see that on here I am not or have not recently focused enough on the good news, the positives, and the silver linings and as I listen and think I start to feel like maybe I want to write more on that stuff to help me keep that focus going and growing.
So the good news:
Today I got good news. The pituitary tumor is non-functional and nonthreatening at this point. It is not interfering with hormones or my eyes and that is good... Well there is still a very slight possibility it is a cyclical cortisol producing tumor, but that is unlikely and also apparently hard to diagnose.  Basically if I have another manic episode I need to get my blood tested and then we would know if that could be a possibility. The funny thing is, I am tempted to push myself into mania just to find out. But that is about as far as I will respond to that temptation because I really don't want to go there.
So tumor and pituitary are good and that is good.
Of course there is that small part of me that is a little disappointed the tumor is not accountable for the crazy and then I feel tempted to mistakenly think I didn't get any answers there. But that is not true, this good news actually gave some very solid answers: TBI and neuropsychologist error/misconduct are more clearly the culprits.
Other good news:
Yesterday was rough at one point but I also had some very positive experiences. One of which was the snowboarding lesson I taught. Two kids, 10 and 12, first timers, and they were awesome. They were fun and teachable and they did amazing. Yet, for me, the real highlight was the conversation with the 12 (almost 13) year old girl about TBI. She told me she had gotten a concussion from skiing a couple of years ago. As she was telling me about it and about how it showed up on an MRI and she said, "they said something about a brain bleed," I was a bit surprised they were calling it a concussion. She told me about how reading was really hard that year in school and that the week she returned to school she had to do a standardized reading test and it made her head hurt so bad it made her sick; so sick she threw up. My heart hurt for her and all the kids and people who have serious head injuries that are not treated seriously enough. But again focusing on the positive, I was so happy to have a conversation with her about issues she has had and that she might face in her teen years. She is a very intelligent girl and is capable of recognizing things -like feeling sad for longer than she did before- as symptoms. She was so receptive and happy to discuss the subject. Her eyes were lit and she was appreciative as I explained that if she felt or experienced some added intensities in her teen years it could be due to that TBI, [especially considering the location (same as mine)] and that knowing that could help her through it.
My sweet MMM friend reminds me, getting this girl as my student was not a coincidence and I agree.
I am so happy I could help her.
And even though my family (the parent-sibling part) has mostly been hands off and keep it to yourself through these very trying times, I have one sister who occasionally checks up on me to see how things are going and another who I can usually talk to about these things and that is very nice.
So I am grateful and I do want it to be clear to my readers and myself that I do have and I am aware of the so very many positive things in my life.
I am lucky.
And I am especially lucky to have my MMM friend.

Redefining Crazy

I hate that I have all these stupid problems that make me more likely to commit suicide. I hate it because it is too damn real and I understand too well why that is true. I hate it because I want to quit and give up and in addition to that people treat you differently.
Maybe that is why people with bipolar, TBI and who have had a family member commit suicide are more likely to,
because people treat them different
And not usually in good ways.
In fact it is too often kind of crappy
so then I get scared of everybody and I isolate myself to protect,
which really does not work so well,
but the alternative can be so very painful.
Especially when people poke.
It's like the friends that have really been bad friends. They want out because they don't want to be burdened by the extra burden -or they don't know how to handle you now -or they are just plain ignorant and stigmatizing cowards. So they start doing things to push your buttons and then if you react they say "see" and feel fully justified in being a jerk to you.
Employers do this too.
If they find out you have any kind of mental health struggle they often start looking for reasons to fire you. Or they pass you over and avoid you, making it impossible to be promoted or get anywhere. And all this in addition to the isolation you already feel. Then if you say anything or react they say "see" and you will be let go for far lesser offenses than you have seen your unmarked peers make and are not even chastised for.
Even medical providers and psychologists will use it against you.
And the worst part: even if your reaction falls well within normal, you will be accused of overreacting. Even when your reaction is under-reactive. Then you might be accused of not reacting when you should have... and you are stuck in a lose lose scenario. If you react at all you lose, if you don't react you lose.
So, as if it is not hard enough, let's add all of that to it and then expect our genuinely psychologically challenged people to behave better than everyone else.
It is asinine and maddening and no wonder people behave so badly in this country.

My kids and I witnessed a contrast to this in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
We decided to go shopping in a popular shopping area that was in a very tight part of the city. I am sorry I cannot remember the name. It is a very busy area and there are shops and people everywhere. When we got there a man noticed us and started talking to us. Our Portuguese was not great, so we were gleaning and using context clues. He seemed to be about my age and he seemed to be trying to help us. He was especially watchful of my son who was 10 at the time, although he looked to be no older than 8.
The man was trying to guide us to different places and was trying to tell us stuff but since our Portuguese was very limited we were not understanding him or his intentions very well. We did gather that he had a son and it seemed his son had passed away. He was with the angels; we understood that much. He brought us to a vendor that spoke English. We asked him who this man was and questions that would help us understand this man's intentions. The English speaking vender told us, "it's okay, he's just crazy." Another vendor told us the same thing. They both knew this man, were happy to see him, were kind to him, and they assured us we were in no danger; "he was just crazy."
I was not so assured and after visiting a few more places with the assistance of our happenstance escort the stress of the area was getting to me so we asked him where the subway station was and he took us there. I gave him some money thinking that was what he was really after. He looked at me, unsure of what to do. I was not sure if he was offended, hurt or just surprised by the offering. We thanked him and left to catch the sub-train as he stood there with his hand still half out, confused as he looked from me to the money and back. 
In the quiet and less chaotic spaces and in the places that we new better, where we felt safer and more comfortable, I had time to reflect on the series of events and this man.
It was then that I realized just how stigmatizing, ignorant, and fearful I was of mentally ill people.
In America when we say a person is "crazy" it is usually a condescending and degrading remark. Even in cases of true biological mental illness, here, it is a justifiable reason to treat the person labeled as such in any terrible way. Examples: "he divorced her because she was crazy," "OMG, he's crazy, don't even talk to him." We ostracize and easily excuse comments like "get away from me you crazy b*@#" etc.
Is it any wonder that some of our crazies end up doing horrible things?
Meanwhile in Brazil, they have a saying, "we don't have natural disasters so God gave us all the crazy people," or something to that effect. But they don't treat their crazy people like a natural disaster, at least they did not in that shopping district we went to.
We encountered other mentally ill people in  Rio and we saw how they were treated in contrast. It was really beautiful and refreshing.
That day, with the man that was really just being protective and helpful, when I had a chance to reflect, I felt pretty bad about being afraid of him and for not being nicer. Not that I was terrible to him but I was not as kind as I could have been nor as kind as I usually am.
Just imagine how much kinder a place our own country would be if we stopped treating "crazy" like it was a plague and people with mental illnesses as less than human. Especially since every one of us will face mental illness or psychological struggles at some time in our life. Depression is the common cold of mental illness and our culture breads and feeds so many different varieties of mental health problems; anxiety, gender confusion, depression, narcissism etc, what do we think is going to happen?
When we label crazy as "bad" and we stigmatize people for the traits that make them different; when we make their struggles taboo and forbidden to talk about; when we won't even give them a chance; we isolate and encourage the darker sides of people to come out.
So there are my two cents for the day.
I did not want to come on here at all
but when I found myself fighting to reset suicidal thoughts again, after once again having the stigmatizing and ostracizing a bit too in my face, and I could not go to sleep (often a great way to reset) I decided this might be a good option. And it is. Written out, I feel reset again.
Please have a lovely day and try to love the crazies in your life because when crazy is nurtured with love it can be a really beautiful thing. I mean seriously, think Disneyland, theater, and sports; those things are just crazy, and often created by people who are "crazy," yet it is obvious how truly beautiful, exciting and fun they can be.
XOXO

Adjustments.

Yesterday I had to help with fencing before teaching snowboarding. Fencing is putting up the net fences and taking care of other tasks that need to be done to prepare the ski resort for the day. Yesterday's fencing job included shoveling out one of the magic carpets. It hurt my bruised ribs... But still I worked knowing I probably should not. I eventually told the other two I was working with that I could not go any longer. The job was almost done, I was the only biological female (biologically weaker in physical strength), and the other two are much younger anyway so I didn't feel too bad.

After that I taught snowboarding all day to a higher level kids group -which was better for my ribs especially considering the heavy (albeit awesome fun) snow conditions of the day. Then I finished the work day by helping take fences down. 

I was pleasantly surprised, driving home, that may ribs did not hurt as bad as the day before and my emotions held despite the fatigue. Yet still tired, I pulled into my driveway around 4:45 pm and shut my eyes for a minute; a little rest before unloading my gear. With my eyes closed I felt so heavy and tired I thought I might pass out right there. The degree of heavy-swaying-tired I felt reminded me of my youth. It reminded me of skiing with my day when I was a kid.

My dad, I have mentioned before, is hard core, and not in any kind of trendy, "I'm hard core," kind of way but in the genuine workaholic, push yourself beyond the limit, tougher than nails but still thinks of himself as wimp kind of way. Though he knows he is not a wimp, my dad is not large in stature and he knows he is not as tough as an old western cowboy so he does not think of himself as being as tough as he really is. He can be very hard to keep up with; which can be a challenge but also, I love how much his toughness and his work-hard-play-hard ethics and livelihood teach and inspire me. 

That said, I hope this helps illustrate how skiing with my dad would have been when I was a kid. I loved it. And then, because we were active young stock and of his bloodline, we could kind of keep up... actually, not really, and that is probably why I often got to go with him as the free-child-with-paying-adult; because often my siblings did not enjoy skiing for as long and hard as my dad liked to... anyway, days on the slops with my dad meant: up at the crack of dawn to get there as soon as they opened and skiing nonstop until the resort closed -some stayed open for night skiing, by-the-way, and that made for a very long day. When I say nonstop the only exaggeration is in the occasional bathroom break (probably less than one a day) and maybe a stop for a quick sandwich and drink at the car or no stop for lunch because we could carry a sandwich in our pockets and eat them on the lift. 

It's hardcore. And I remember being so tired when we got home that often I didn't make it out of my base layers before falling asleep. I'd lay down on my bed, just for a minute, for a little rest before changing and going to bed for real. Of course, on those days, I was so tired that I'd feel heavy and swaying and I'd not make it back up to change into pajamas or brush my teeth. I remember, as I would start to fall asleep, I could still feel my body moving form side to side as if I were still skiing down the mountain. It was such a thirst quenching kind of tired. 

That is how I felt in the car after work yesterday. It's a good feeling and I am glad I get to feel it. 

But 

...and now I move again into the processing, writing out, and trying to figure out how to accept the realities that are different now -of my new norm.

...but

it is sad, frustrating, annoying, hard, sometimes discouraging, etc, that my stamina is so much shorter than it used to be. 

I know this a normal part of aging and I am glad I have the health and physical abilities that I do have. I am glad that I can still teach snowboarding at all (just to clarify, it was skiing as a kid and I switched to snowboarding as a teen, but I can and do both. And though I am snowbadextrious, currently I only teach snowboarding). 

I am very grateful for a husband that supports our family well enough and loves me enough that I can have these hobbies and low paying jobs that allow me that freedom, fun and ability. 

Please know, I am so very grateful.

But it is also hard. It is hard to loose healthy functioning parts of your self too soon and it can be hard to adjust. 

Like today, I went and had my blood drawn (again) at about 9 am and fasting. Not a big deal but I could feel, in my tiredness, the blood draining from me and I felt even more like I was going to pass out right there than I did in the car the yesterday day after work. I did not pass out but the prevalence of the tiredness and the draining can be a bit disheartening.  

My husband and I went to breakfast after. Then to Costco to get some prescriptions refills. By then my head was hurting. Right side, pain actually coming from the same region as the damaged temporal lobe. That is where my headaches seem to always be since the car accident (the last TBI). Today it was the kind of headache that pushes on my eyes making it hard to keep them open. 

Now my husband is going up to the ski resort to get a few runs in, I want to go too, but I need to lay down and rest my heavy head... I think I can go and be tough... but getting back up my head starts to hurt again. He doesn't want me to go, he wants me to recover. It is not like him to be concerned and I know if he is worried about me then he is not going to have as much fun so I listen to him and my body and stay home. 

But not without breaking again as evidenced by the stream leaking from my eyes.

I am not tough enough. I want to be stronger. I want to push myself... but I also know better

And, to be perfectly honest, I am kind of afraid of that seizure like activity that the EEG found and that I have been a bit suspicious of... I don't want to push into or beyond that limit.
Adjustments.
They can be difficult
even when they are invisible.
or
maybe
especially when they are invisible. 

tired broken brains

Blah blah wah wah

I hate this shit here on this page and I am tired of being second class. Why am I still nice to lousy friend that is shameless in replacing me and I know will say shit about me to relieve her own conscience? I am nice because that is who I want to be and even though she is a shitty friend to me I know that she is mostly a good person and I do know she has a lot of her own shit and baggage. I reminded myself of that, so that I can be nice and not so hurt.

But it still hurts.

and I don't know how to expect to be treated better by people. 

And I am crying and fighting damned suicidal thinking again and it is pissing me off because that is not what I want and not what I am going to do. 

SO I get that out of my head ...

but somehow find myself pushing into reckless.  

And WHY???

What the hell is going on with me now?

WHY???

I am stable 

I say 

but I am also tired, physically and mentally after teaching snowboarding and being around so many people and having it in my face how much of an outsider I am. 

And my stupid ribs hurt. The damn ribs that cover my heart. 

because I had an oh so graceful endo onto a box slide when a divot caught my snowboard just before mounting the railed box. 

Oddly while driving home the pain in the region of my heart brings back memories to my tired dejected brain of a time when my heart hurt like hell until I got back in... and it catches me off guard

When will this hell end?

I think

as my the tears start to stream.

It's annoying as hell

but I also know that I was not in hell a few hours ago and that I am still very enthusiastic about life, really. So I remind myself that my broken brain will wear out a bit faster than others and faster than it used to. I remind myself that it was fragile before anyway. And I remind myself - nope, I stop on that one- don't remind yourself there. But I know my emotions go when I do too much or push too hard and I know that is an unfortunate reality of my injuries. So I can cut me some slack and allow the tired and know I will be okay again after some rest. 

Yet there is still a truth: It is so damn frustrating to have this low of cognitive stamina- I am tougher than this-

and yet I am not.

SO that makes me kind of mad and the cycle starts all over again

Except for this time it doesn't because I am writing it out and in doing so I see the comedy of it and my tired brain laughs. 

Good night.

Time to rest this heavy burdened head. 

Bipolar blood

Blood draw today.
The girl has me poked and needle in as soon as I sit down. I am kind of glad for this because I really don't like needles.
It was a bit of a problem in my younger years. My heart rate would shoot way up and I'd have some sort of panic attack. I wonder if this was a form of PTSD because the fear and anxiety did not start until after the 1st TBI and the hospital stay. As a kid, of course I did not like getting shots but reactions like that did not happen. Needles did not scare me when I was little.
Regardless I have learned to manage. I usually use a form of meditation through it. But this lovely young lady had the needle in so fast I didn't even have time to worry about it.
So I was happy she was so quick.
But
The funny part was on the 5th or 6th vile; she makes a comment about how the blood is flowing.
I ask if it is slowing.
She says it is weird because it is like nothing is coming then suddenly it is fast.
I tell her is must be the bipolar in my blood.
And I am glad she finds my joke funny too.
Because I really don't like to offer up that kind of info so easily

Shades of grey... the colors of yesterday that just don't stay...Black and white; much more air tight.

I'm feeling things. Things that are really angering. I want to speak out. I want to stand up for myself... to people who don't want to hear, people who don't care. So I come here, to save myself from the pain I will inevitably feel in my rejected efforts to be heard.
Those friends that are being, and/or have been, kind of shitty friends through all this,... it is causing my brain to relive shit again.
Mainly the stupid comments of one friend with his narrowed suspicious eyes, "what are you up to?" he asks, wanting me to question my motives. I tried to explain, but he just kept at this weird suspicious therapist bs. Believe me, I have questioned my motives. It is why this is taking far too long. but since said conversation with x-friend
I have realized
#1 he had already decided whatever it was he had decided and no matter what I said he was not going to hear me
#2 I could not really address his concern very well because I actually have no freaking idea what it is he thinks I am up to that he claims is out of line with his "core values."

But I can tell you this; this questioning- that has led to reliving again- is shedding more light on the reality of the bullshit Dr. He fed me and how he manipulated me merely to protect himself.
It is not and was not me that people should be asking that question to. It is him. "What was Dr. He up to?"
What were the rest of them up to?
What are they up to?

It is extremely fishy and suspicious and Dr. He knew all to well how to manipulate things to his favor, how to get me into trouble for trying to protect him.

My middle fingers go up as I am once again reliving scenarios and hearing the words replay.
I know what your are up to... I did even when I was broken, even when I was fading, even when my heart loved him so very much that I could not and would not believe it. I caught him, in his trap, and he was terrified of me.
My guess
it was likely all three:
he played with me,
he broke me,
and he loved me
because I
could keep up
and maybe even stay ahead of him
and since he is a coward
he chooses to hate me for it
...because I just might be smarter than he -even broken-
and he wanted me
but he couldn’t have me.
At least not so easily
and not as the obedient toy he intended me to be

so he has to hate me

That is what I think just may be the reality
I don't want it to be. I want to be wrong. I hope I am wrong.
I don't think that highly of myself anyway
...but the evidence and behaviors, the way things were handled, the way they are still being handled
very strongly suggest otherwise. I don't want to be right... but I think it is more important to say these things and be wrong then to not say them and be right. If I am wrong we can talk and set the record straight... But they won't. Why?
If I am right... these things need to be brought to light and he needs to be stopped. The machine that is protecting him, the machine that may be frauds in the entirety, needs to be stopped and changed.
Sometimes I really hope I am wrong... but very often I am right.
...and sometimes I really hate when I am right...

The scrutiny
Where should it really be?
And yet I feel it doesn't really matter because they own the shoulds and hold all of the cards.
... I post this blog entry and then pull down at the slightest slight from a different source
...because I know some will think I need to be humbled
while others are just tired of hearing about it.
and yet others will most certainly use is against.
I am tired of thinking about it
I am tired of knowing what I know
but not knowing what to do about it and how to handle it
and feeling powerless.
I am not a victim
but yet I am
... yet so many others have been through so much worse
... so I should just shut up?
but my friend who has been through so sooo much more and so much worse is right;
others would not fair so well
they would not survive.
so it's back up it goes
so others who may be going through or have gone through similar may know
it is not you
 it is them and
you too deserve to live too.
I'll keep speaking for the voiceless and those who have been abused by the systems and the people in them that they have trusted so completely.
https://qr.ae/TmRzyx
This problem is real and I am not an isolated incident, nor am I to blame. It is bigger than just this incident. it is bigger than just me...