Love is not all you need.

 I am away. I have run away. 

Kind of.

I am at my friend's house, in some of the smaller mountains of Idaho. Really, for Idaho, they are not mountains, rather pine covered hills that peak high enough to retain snow just a little more and a little longer than the areas surrounding. They are beautiful and peaceful hills with a nicely moderate climate and scattered homesteads. My friend and her family, that includes a daughter with my namesake, moved here just last year and it is my first time here. It's a nice place to run away to for the purpose of writing a book.

It is also a safe place. 

And I have been pleasantly surprised to find that the lack of association with anything related to my experiences of the past few years has been helpful. It is making the writing of this story (into a book form) easier. 

At least so far. 

Right now I am taking a break to write out a bit of pain that is resurfacing. I have been reading some of my writings from the time of my breaking. This morning I wanted to see how what I was writing in my personal journaling, that, at the time, I referred to as "my self discovery report," compared to what I actually said to Dr. Pertab in email...

It's heartbreakingly devastating again. 

And I can easily see, looking back, why it broke me so completely and dangerously. I was so obviously manic and in a highly vulnerable place. The devastation is because of how it was ignored, dismissed and twisted. 

It hurts my heart and I once again feel so very confused by how He could deny it and do nothing to make sure I got the appropriate help I needed. 

It was so obvious. 

And I want to write to him about it. I want to ask him: Why? 

Which I have already done, every way I can, and have had that used against me. So I know better. Which is why I am on here again. Exposing my burdens, my pain, and my shame and asking him Why? 

Why?

I say I am lucky to be alive and to have made it through that. It's not an exaggeration. I am lucky to have navigated, endured, and survived that level of psychological breaking, and of psychosis, that was also associated with an injury to the impulse control and mood stability control center of the brain. 

I am lucky. 

He? Disappointed? 

It genuinely hurts and probably will every time. 

And I am especially saddened to know that Jon Pertab is no better than the very bad professor Christopher Johnson, who is willing to take harming a student (and her kids) to any level he can simply to protect himself from legitimate complaints that might be filed against him...

That makes me the saddest. 

Because I loved Jon

but I never loved professor Johnson. 

slow processor

It's funny that even still things will pop into my mind and I will say "oh, now I understand."
It's been 3 months and I'm still just figuring things out. This should not come as a surprise, given the neuropsych tests performed showed I was much slower at processing new information. I am intelligent enough but admittedly it can take some time and use of neuroplasticity to process and fully understand new information. And though I will admit I enjoy added cryptic challenges, it can make the deciphering of new information take even longer, especially under emotional stress.
"I don't believe in forever anymore" he said and I didn't know what he meant. It has replayed in my head but made little sense to me.
But I think I get it now.
It was a fleeting moment. Fleeting chemistry? Not a forever feeling. What I was feeling was real but wouldn't last? what he was feeling was real but wouldn't last? He also expressed a contradiction with the latter, that added to confusion.
We humans are so often walking contradictions.
And I am certain I have killed any "fatal attraction" that may or may not have existed (your welcome)
But for me I suppose I didn't really care if it lasted forever or not. I believe in forever and forever is altered by what we do with right now. My forever is forever altered
... and that is okay. It will take time to figure this out and to heal, or maybe I never will heal completely but I have eternity to work it out so that makes it okay.
For him it was a compromise of too much for feelings he does not believe in. I see why and he may just be right but he may also be wrong.
forever is a long time to wait though and with the promise of never I suppose that is why I'm burning it to the ground. At least for him, I'm sure.
"that'll never happen" people keep assuring me when I explain that I just want a real conversation, when I am not in manic survival mode, fighting to keep what I most needed; and I want to understand what happened without their being fears of repercussions for him. But he is the one who has so much to lose by being honest.
I have already lost it all. My safe place where I finally had some answers and understanding. The profession and the professional who actually could help me understand and figure out what I was and am from a psychological, biological, and scientific perspective. The guidance, confidence and appreciation of my uniqueness that was building my confidence in myself, helping me learn to love, appreciate and care for myself. A person I connected easily with and had complete faith in. A person who seemed to genuinely care for me, was patient and kind and who was also interesting and beautiful to me. ...and so much more, but only for a fleeting moment.
I've already lost everything I wished to gain... I have nothing left to loose there, but he does... I wish I didn't care so much. I wish I didn't feel so much.
I am feeling less and less but if I am not careful that fades me into the lost and broken me that is worthless and easily discarded. the part of me that I actually did open up about...
If I don't turn this into something, this ultimate of rejections, I am completely broken and unrepairable. It is a make or break me moment and I have to at least try to stand up for my value as a person, and as a client. I can not be so easily discarded by the people who I am paying to help me believe that I am of worth.
It is not easy to explain...

The Run Away Bunny

"I just need a moment to write this out," I think to myself as my throat tightens and my eyesight begins to blur from the fluid that is welling up in my eyes. 

I am trying to gather the things I think I should take with me on my book writing journey. I am looking through the journal I was writing at the time that Dr. He broke me. I find some entries from 12/1/2018, 12/2/2018 and 12/3/2018. On the 1st I am new person, peaceful, resolved, cool and collective, as well as completely confident with the "new me" that Dr. He helped me to find. On the 2nd I am not sure what is happening and as I write anger emerges. By the 3rd I am exhausted and confused. It can be difficult to read. This time those are not so difficult to read rather they are quite fascinating and intriguing. 

I decide to rewind my story as I flip pages back. I am curious about the lead up and how I documented that. I read from some dates in August of the same year (2018). These entries read more like a typical journal entry and are not nearly as... exciting?... as the the previously mentioned. As I read them I find these entries -that are more reminiscent of normal me- more difficult to read. This is when I start to feel the knot in my throat and the tears starting to well as I realize how much more simple my life was and how much more simple, basic, and naive I was. 

I am so much more complex now. My life is complex. My brain is complex. Everything feels so much more complex and I am burdened with knowledge of just how naive I was about the systems and institutions that are supposed to and were set up to "help" and "protect." 

As I read I find, stirring in me, a longing for that blissful ignorance... an ignorance and innocence that I will never be able to return to. 

What a strange thing. And in tao honesty, I would not actually want to go back 

because it was not really all that blissful. I know this, because if it had actually been blissful I would have been much more immune to and less effected by Dr. He's careless and/or careful plantings of romantic transference and his implications of romantic countertransference. 

So as I prepare to run away to tackle these profoundly life altering phenomenons I am again hit with the realization that it will be difficult. Which is precisely why I am running away to focus on this. 

It is the story that circumstances continue to channel me back to. The culminating event, the yin and yang, the greatest mysteries and discoveries of my life. 

Stories are interesting in the way they seem to take on their own life. Some stories want to buried. Some stories want to be told. But some stories have to be told and they will not rest nor will they allow you to alter your course until you give them the attention they need. You have to tell them. That is how this story is, it will not allow me to redirect, move on, or bury it. It has to be told. So I might as well honor that by allowing it to be written into the book I keep promising it I'll write. 

...and one more thing. I am so very grateful to have the medical-psychiatric-psychological team I have now. 

Learned Helplessness and PTSD

 Afraid.

Learned helplessness and PTSD. They are real deals. 

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

A lot of times it's hard.

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

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

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

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

Repertoire of mental health issues to face and overcome. 

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

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

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

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

Set the recored straight

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

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

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

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

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

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

I do not and have not attempted. 

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

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

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

Only time will tell

 Sometimes very small things can be quite surprising. 

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

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

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

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

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

Time to tell your story. 

and 

Time to write the book. 

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

and Living. 

Life's Lots

 A cousin who, to me, is absolutely amazing, recently vented on Instagram that she is tired of hearing people complain about their lot in life. Very few people can get away with saying something like this, however she can because she has had to rise above, again and again, very devastating, heartbreaking and unbelievably unfair circumstances. But still I was hesitant to offer a "like" to her post because I think it highly likely I can be perceived as one of those whom she is complaining about... 

Silly, really, why that would keep me from encouraging a post like this, but I guess that is precisely where my conflict lies: Do I want to encourage a post like this? Coming from this particular person it is more meaningful and not condemning and I know that, but do others? My main concern is that there are people whose lot in life needs to be talked about and brought to light in order to change some very bad policies, practices, and societal norms that are creating bad lots for other people too. 

I have been reflecting on my lot in life and my complaints about it and this is the conclusion I have come to: I am not all that bothered by my lot in life. Would I rather have a different lot? If I could hand pick my lot in life, you bet I would choose something different. However, that does not mean I feel sorry for myself for my lot in life. On the contrary I think my lot in life has been pretty incredible in so many ways and I feel very fortunate that I have my particular lot. What I am most "dissatisfied" with or maybe, rather, what really bothers me most about my lot in life is how other people treat and even perceive me because of it, as is so plainly evidenced by so many aspects of my recent circumstances. 

This harsh reality of my misfit and even misunderstood status to people who do not know me was countered the other day when I was hanging out with my 17 year old daughter. She was sharing with me a game she likes to play on her phone that is all about making outfits for beautiful anime style characters.  As she was looking through some of the designs she shared with me one that she said reminds her of me. She pointed out the features and explained why they reminded her of me. Here she is:

It is very meaningful to me that my daughter, somebody who lives with me everyday and has seen me at my best, my worst and everything in between, and somebody that knows me better than anyone else, perceives me to be angelic, beautiful, and so many others things that this picture embodies. 

And that is what really mattes. As long as my kids see me as something beautiful and, as my son demonstrated, someone worth standing up for, than I know I am still okay. It is nice to know that those who actually know me, know that I am not what our cultural and societal biases want to make me out to be. I hope that others may someday see and understand that better and not condemn and discriminate against people so easily for the unfortunate and/or unchosen aspects of their lot in life.