Keeping in context. Still fighting.

 Nothing I have experienced is quite as exquisitely painful as knowing that someone you loved and trusted would rather you die than admit they made a mistake... 

and then further deepened knowing that they may have even been pushing for it.

I am not sure if it was the PTSD trigger that brought back, or maybe rather re-intensified the still fading,  feelings and memories or if it is the distance I am feeling between me and my husband that has caused feelings to resurface, but for some reason these last couple of days, I keep finding myself tucked away in memories and feelings that I have been struggling like hell to forget and move past; to get and/or keep within appropriate and accurate context and framing. 

Today, while on a drive with my husband, I started reading aloud the next chapter in my PSY 1010 book. It is on stress. It is probably worth noting that the previous  chapter covered our human need for belonging. Now I am reading about how stress, stress from trauma, and prolonged stress effect your health and your autonomic nervous system (ANS). 

It put things back into appropriate context. 

Dr. He's research on how concussion effects the ANS is a systematic review. That's kind of a big undertaking and if one chooses to take on all the research and scholarly articles well enough to produce a publishable systematic review, then one knows the topic and material very well....

...And there is nothing quite as exquisitely painful as knowing and remembering that someone you loved and trusted so completely knew what he was doing and knew how it would affect a person. When I was trying to protect he was pushing for increased stress, a compromised immune system, depression, and further instability that would increase likelihood of a shortened life.

It is very painful. 

and I have to admit, I feel especially hurt again, not just by that man but also by the slew of other people that chose to follow suit and by the silence of my husband after I explain why-the-tears that refused to stay contained.

And by the silence of friends and family who no longer speak to me, because they did not want to be bothered and/or they did not want to believe our medical providers could do such things when I needed help and support to pull through the trauma ... and when I was distressed. 

I am sad.

But at least I can feel some peace knowing this has likely shortened those aging fading years that I am not all that excited for. 

taking sides (of my brain)

 PSY 1010. I am reading about thinking, language and intelligence. The book, Psychology in Everyday Life by David Myers and Nathan Dewall (2020) says, "we have many distinct neural networks that enable our many varied abilities. Our brain coordinates all that activity and the result is g [general intelligence]" 

I also just read about Broca's area and Wernicke's area. They are area's in the left frontal lobe that effect language comprehension and expression. An area where I have some damage. And I have read about cognition and creative thinking. I especially like Robert Sternberg's and colleague's 5 ingredients to creativity. And I like the list of cognitive processes this textbook contains on page 221. 

Back to the quote I started with. I read that and had a moment of insight, defined by the the book to be "a sudden realization of the solution to a problem; contrasts with strategy-based solutions." I think I might extend the definition to also include sudden realizations of problems and the potential contributing variables. 

My insight? I suppose it stems from the problem of "why is it so much harder for me to focus when I am emotional and with this recent trigger?" I have really struggled to study, and function with the recent PTSD trigger. I am forgetting things across the board and staying focused is really difficult.

But the Aha moment points out that my right prefrontal cortex has damage too, even more than the left temporal lobe. My insight reminds me that neurologist was impressed at how well I am doing in comparison to others with damage like this to that area. But when emotions hit and conditions that would require energy from that now missing area arise, it takes energy and effort from all the other parts of my brain to manage what that missing area could manage so much more easily and efficiently. Thus, so many other areas of cognition suffer ...so I probably really am more sensitive... 

and the fatigue happens faster because I am coming from a deficit. And I know this, but I think I finally just understood it. Neuroplasticity; is a wonderful and amazing thing, but it does require energy. 

Everybody needs a Dr. She

 Triggering, PTSD, discrimination, ignorance, bias. Those have been what I have been dealing with this last week. 

I know I have not handled everything perfectly but I have been trying to handle it honestly and fairly. The professor, clearly is not going to be fair with me. He has not honored what he has said about not marking us down as late and he refuses to communicate with me or provide feed back on the assignments we are supposed to be building on and adjusting according to feedback. There is more to this story I do not wish to disclose. It hurts and it has triggered very real PTSD but now I have this lovely little incident to figure out. 

And it is so hard not to take these hits personally. Not to feel like I am the problem. It is hard to trust the people at the institution that say they are there to help me through this. It is hard to know how to proceed. And it brings back memories of the IHC patient advocate who acted so nice and claimed she was there to help when it was all just a set up. I am not sure if I should go down that path with the University... But this time, I am not trying to "protect" anyone who has and are causing harm to me. This time I am not at all attached. So at least that. 

Mostly, I am sure glad I have Dr. She. She understands me and she knows what has happened, she understands why, and she knows who I am. She has confidence in me. Even more than I thought. She is not disappointed in me and she does not think any less of me. She does not blame or shame. She does not baby or coddle. She just talks to me about it and so effortlessly and causually reminds me of who I am and what I know about me. She helps me remember how well I have managed and handled really hard things, harder than this. She does not think I will break as big. I needed this vote of confidence. I did not know that I needed it, but I did. I am so glad to have her. I thank her for knowing and understanding me. I thank her for once again being there for me. She reassures me that she is not going anywhere. I don't know if I entirely trust that and I tell her that. She tells me that's okay and she'll still keep being here for me...

It's very nice to have a Dr. She. Which reminds me of what I am trying to do. 

And I am finding my way. 

Solving and Starving

 Trying to solve has definitely helped. I will admit though it is a bit sad to me how that is resulting in my brain heart and body recognizing and accepting that my once imperfectly perfect and beautifully brilliant Dr. P is nothing more than a cowardly little discriminatory weasel likely more similar to my insecure lying professor who finds satisfaction in exerting his authority, dominance, and power over the week, injured, or those who dare to ask questions... 

It is good that I am becoming free of Dr. He and the delusions that were fed by denial and gaslighting when I was already lit up, but it is also sad. I am sad for Dr. P mostly, that he is so much less than I believed him to be and such a injured coward that he had to keep those delusions alive anyway he could to stroke his own ego and hide how truly small and broken he is. He did so very much at my expense and to my detriment. He first tried to keep me in an unstable place and then tried to make it appear that my unstable place was nothing more than an obsession with him... So sad and too bad that he was and likely still is incapable of seeing what I really am and how reconciling with who and what I really am would be so much more flattering to him. 

I see, in what I read, in the research but especially in the representation of psychologist and similarly trained professionals, just how disappointing he really is. Forms of transference that are helping to destroy the delusions that, first, my love and trust and then my mania had built of him. 

Rather unrelated, other than this is what has become of me, now I want to write about a dream I had last night.

In this dream there was a large gathering of people I knew, family, friends, acquaintances of all kinds, and some faces I did not know. Their was a large, lavish and glorious spread of food. I must have been late or I had been distracted in conversation because most had finished eating at that point. I was instructed to go get some food before they started cleaning up. But every time I tried to get food the plate would be taken as soon as I turned away by someone who was cleaning up or packing up. Each time I would be instructed and even helped to get new food but then someone would unintentionally knock it out of my hand, or the plate, too small and thin would not hold the food, or again someone would take the plate when I put it down and looked or stepped away, like to get a utensil or a drink or another tiny plate because I was starving and I wanted to get enough food before it all got cleaned up. I was so hungry and the food so beautiful and delicious but I could never even get a bite before it was taken again. At one point, when the food was spilled, I was ready to salvage what I could but an aunt or someone would not allow me to eat the spilled food and kindly cleaned while directing me to get appropriate food because there was plenty. And there was plenty, but before I could reach the next table the food was swiftly packed and taken away. I pleaded as they walked out, but too far gone into the process of packing, they ignored my pleas... I needed nourishment. People were pseudo-trying to help but too busy and caught up in clean up to realize that they were the ones taking it away form me before I ever could even take a bite. I was hungry and helpless and ignored by people I knew and cared about while insane amounts of food were being taken and denied me. I tried heaping quicker which must have offended as the plate now looked messy and unfit for consumption so someone would promptly dispose of it before I could eat any ... And I just kept getting hungrier and hungrier. 

... And even before I fully woke I think I knew this dream represents how life now feels for me in the waking hours. I keep trying to get the social nourishment I need and to enjoy both the fanfare and the camaraderie, but they are all to busy, or I arrived to late, and my needs are not their priority... So then getting my needs met starts to feel like I have to fight... and, something like in the dream; in life I metaphorically can't get any food and as I become hungrier and hungrier, the food is becoming more an more scarce... and though I become less and less picky, others are picky for me but fail to see that their pickiness just cost me another opportunity to eat. 

How on earth am I ever going to get anything to eat? I'm starving now, and everyone has cleaned up and gone home, ...and I am left alone in a big empty room with no food, no friends, no family, and no idea of where to go from here and how to get food. I used to know... But I'm lost now in this big empty space. 

Semmelweis the Outlier.

I am learning a whole lot in my psychology classes and yet there is not much that is all that new or surprising. But it is organized and the vocabulary is new. So I hope this helps me better structure and organize my thinking. 

Today in PSY 1010 I am reading about memory. It is very interesting especially considering my experience. My professor has a weekly zoom open forum discussion for us. This week I brought up some of the connections I made. I told him about the memory of the straight jacket. He doubts I was in one, claims they have not been used for decades. It was decades ago and another student chimed in to defend because she had one used on her as a child by a dentist. She was fully conscious so her memory is harder to question. Professor still doubts. I brought up some other notices and wonders that I have ...and history repeats. He calls me an anomaly, other times it feels that he is implying I am liar. Thing is, I have never been a very good liar, it's not something I like or want to do, and it does not feel good to me. Yet, somehow, I continue to get myself into trouble for being too honest... 

Concurrently in PSY 3500 we were assigned to read two stories from a book called The Century of the Surgeon, by Jurgen Thorwald. The first story was called "Invisible Assassins" and it was about Joseph Lister; with some coverage of Louis Pasteur.  The second story called "Dirty Hands" was about Ignaz Phillip Semmelweis, the doctor who -through diligence and persistence- discovered that childbed fever was  being spread among patients because surgeons were not washing their hands and equipment. The stories were told in story narrative, the author acting as a character in the story. However, they were not just about the research and discoveries in preventing infection and the spreading of it, they were also about the way the physicians and scientists were treated and the resistance and opposition they faced in trying to spread the news of their discoveries. Semmelweiss was first called crazy and then he was driven to crazy as he fought to protect and save lives...

"They were pioneers"

is what we say now. But they were not seen as that then. They were seen as disruptors, and their truths were likely called anomalies and even lies. They were outliers. Outliers because they cared enough to change their methods and their minds. Outliers because they cared about their patients. Outliers because they valued human life and they would not allow themselves to be comfortable with casualties. 

In "Dirty Hands" page 229, it says "This acceptance of child fever as a thing inexorably fated was an attitude Semmelweiss had naturally absorbed from his teacher-until he himself came face to face with it."  

Face to face

where do you or would you stand?

... Coincidentally at my last appointment with Dr. She she told me I was an outlier and an anomaly...

I think I am getting tired of being an outlier and an anomaly and I do suspect that I am not nearly as much of one as those medical and psychological professional think I am... Or I am but it doesn't need to be that way. 

Rather I suspect I know somethings and I am worth listening to. 

Now back to what I am reading in my PSY 1010 textbook: Retrieval cues.

Like priming: "the activation, often unconsciously, of particular association memories." This is like product placement and strategically placed inspirational poster. It's also the trick: "what color is snow? what color are clouds? what do cows drink?" (hint: they do not drink milk, which is white and what people often say). I think of some things in Dr. He's office. The book of Tao, that was there in the beginning but not at the end. The picture on his wall. And I think of some things he said, like a couple of examples he shared about his kids... that were rather intimate. Priming? 

Then there are context-dependent memories and state-dependent memories... State-dependent memories: "what we learn in one state...may be more easily remembered again in that state." Apparently this can even apply to drunk and sober. ...But I start to feel rather emotional as I continue reading. 

Called and/or implied that I am a liar... And yet it is all right there, in my textbook. I can make connections that I am not sure others can make. Like how Semmelweiss, Lister, and Pasteur were all, even themselves, resistant to believe what they were seeing. They did not want to fight against the others. There were subtleties in the story that suggest they also followed and/or wanted to follow what was popularly believed and/or widely accepted. I suspect if Semmelweiss was not experiencing this he would have figured out the answer to what was costing so many lives a lot sooner. For awhile, the more determined he was to solve the problem the more patients he lost. For a long time he knew he was somehow responsible but he could not figure out why or how to stop it.

I wanted to believe my misdiagnoser's... but to do so was certain death. And I was just a casualty to them. My professor who called me an anomaly and then I read right in my textbook what I was trying to explain to him and what I have tried to explain so many times: "it was if I had some sort of muscle memory and my brain new how to handle it," and "I kept trying to tell them 'I think I am manifesting better than I am'" when I had a TBI that kept being labeled as a concussion.  State-dependent memory... I remembered more than I knew. My body did know how to handle it. 

And I know things that can help people. That can save lives. And I am begging to be heard... because I am outlier... that cares. 

When I suggested the idea that studying the outliers in psychological and medical studies might help us better understand and improve treatments, Professor of PSY 3500 rejected the idea. 

...I am tired today. And extra tremor-y. I have fumbled in both pathetic and unsettling ways. The worst I ever have. It is kind of sad and disturbing. I took an extra half of Adderall- the second 15 mg I am expected to take, but rarely do. I wondered if that might be why... But then I remembered that I forgot to take my Seroguel last night. I remembered around midnight. Which then made sense why I was so awake. But then I was faced with a dilemma, because I was scheduled to meet with a student at 9am. If I took my meds then I would have a terrible time waking up... Should I take the 50 instant release and skip the 200 extended, vice-versa, or some other variation. I did not dare skip it entirely ... I opted for 100 ER and 50 RR. It was very difficult getting up. I definitely did not get as much sleep as I need. Aaahhh and there it is. The likely culprit for my tears about state-dependent memories.

And I wanted so badly to discuss in class the significant number of things we could learn from Semmelweiss in regards to mental health. He as a great and misunderstood man who ultimately, sacrificed himself fighting to save lives from such pointless deaths. He was criticized, fired, ostracized, and treated in all the right ways for the perpetuation of insanity all for trying to stop the pointless perpetuation of death from the spreading of illness due to unwashed hands. I have great respect and regard for him. 

And maybe mental illness is contagious after all. Or maybe it can be caused and spread by others. 

Either way, I do know that we are not immune to how we are treated by others. 

...and likewise, as the story of Gustav Adolf Michaelis illustrates, neither are we immune to how we treat others. He was a good man who actually adopted Semmelweiss's hand washing policies, but succumbed to suicide because he felt personally responsible for the women that died as a result of how he treated them. 

The countertransference trap

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5anLPw0Efmo

"Please don't close the door completely or I'll just keep coming back trying to knock it down"... I forgot that I had said this.

The song I linked to above says this at one point: "I was alone the whole time" and it starts me thinking...

You were taking from me.

I was there for you

When I needed you there for me.

I thought that you were.

...but was I alone the whole time?

You told me I could keep you in my heart 

then suggested I let it burn out

because that is what you intended to do. 

"Please don't close the door on me completely" I begged

"I'll never have anything to do with you"

you said

and only because you could see yourself loving me?

The one thing I needed most at that precise moment in life...

The door now shut so tight

every day I have to fight

trying to keep my heart from burning out 

trying to keep my mind from following you 

through the door I am forbidden through,

Desperate to collect the shattered pieces of me 

scattered in your territory

that you refuse to see

and will not allow me back to collect

my stolen pieces you neglect. 

Shiny pieces illuminating the pedestal you refuse to come down from

Neglected pieces kept selfishly

for nothing more than flattery. 

Pieces of me that I need

Kept captive in forbidden phenomena 

of confounding connections...

You may keep the flattery 

but please stop the fallacious fantasy, 

and free me from your forgotten fortress

by having something to do with me

In reality.

The Push Crash Cycle

 So my previous providers, though infamous, had some things quite correct and put them forth in simple enough terms that it was very helpful (...they showed so much promise for helping TBI survivors. This is why it is so hard for me to give up my hope that they are not as bad, when they make a mistake, as they keep proving to be ...) 

One of the phenomena that they had right and that was and remains incredibly helpful, is their explanation and guidance on the push crash cycle. They wanted me to be careful to avoid the push crash cycle, a very common problem for people TBI and concussion that inevitably leads to slower healing and/or more permanent or progressive damage. (crazy how while they were the ones to teach about this it ended up being the problem they later would hypocritically exacerbate by first triggering and then denying the ultimate push crash cycle of mania and its associated bipolar effects... sheesh) 

Back to it. 

Push crash, every person has the potential to find themselves in this sort of cycle. I think high school and college students are especially vulnerable because so much is expected of them. They are supposed to have perfect grades, the highest of test scores, be involved in extracurricular activities AND massive amounts of community service while also holding a job at some point just so they can get into college and have any chance at any financial assistance. It's insane what is expected of these kids. So they often push and then crash. Sometimes we call it senior-itis. Others do this with their jobs and for athletes this might as well be the athletes code; push until you crash. It reminds me of the motto of my high school cross-country track team: "Run 'til you hurl!" We adopted this motto to both honor those who had, to motivate us to push harder, and to make light of it as well. Even though I was ranked number one on our girls team I never could push myself that hard and I don't think that is a bad thing. 

But now, the push crash cycle.... it's way to easy to push myself too hard and I am fairly confident that is linked to the TBI. 

This morning, at 4am, I tried to get up to respond to a new friend in Australia who is also a survivor of therapist countertransference that was not handled by the therapist and/or the institution he worked at well. 

I wanted to get to a different room to take a phone call so as not to disturb my husbands sleep. Using my crutches I started to head out of our bedroom.  I was tired and heavy and a stabbing burning pain decided to visit the leg of my recently repaired hip, but this phone call and the person on the other end were important to me... I got out the bedroom door and turned to go down the stairs.. But that was as far as I could push before I came crashing all the way down to the floor. Everything in me dropped and I lost control of my muscles. I didn't entirely faint and was able to go down to the side of my good leg landing me in a way that only my head dangled over the first step as I laid their disoriented trying to figure out what my body was doing. 

This woke my husband - which was what I had been trying to avoid. He came out and helped me out of my very peculiar position but I had to stay in my partially sitting position with my head and shoulders only slightly against the wall until the intense nausea subsided enough that I could scoot myself back into my room where my husband could help me back up to my bed. I was flush and in a cold sweat.

I had pushed too hard and it resulted in a very literal crash. Sigh

But what about the friend? Was I able to talk to her? Actually, at that exact same moment in time on the other side of the world, my sweet friend had a brick come crashing through her window... so she was not able to talk either. She had to call the police while I had to call my husband instead. 

What a bizarre coincidence of two troublesome crashes.