My therapist, Mary, cut me loose when I refused to allow her to get CPS involved. I guess she told my beloved teacher that I was going to continue to need someone to talk with. She must have thought that would somehow keep me alive. Beloved teacher said that she'd spoken with one of the school counselors who could get together with me for half an hour every day.
I already knew Mrs. B. from working in the office at my high school. I was lucky enough to work there during the 45 minutes I was supposed to be taking P.E.. It was a big relief for me and for the people who had to put up with my complete lack of motor skills. No one wanted me on their team and I was quite willing to oblige. I'd figured out a way to avoid ever participating in any team sports in P.E. But that's another story. I liked Mrs. B. and I thought that since Beloved Teacher recommended her, she must be okay. I couldn't have been more wrong.
Over the next several months, I spent some time telling Mrs. B. everything I thought she could handle. She couldn't handle much. I clearly remember that horrified, looking at a decapitated corpse in a car wreck look she'd get while I related events that barely even affected me at that point. A look of disgust crossed her face and set up residence. I started dissociating the minute I walked into her office. Her reaction to me was an assault that I had to vacate my body in order to tolerate. Her solution to my problems? Oh, come now! Surely you know? That's right, turn to Jesus.
The minute the Jesus thing came up, I knew our relationship was broken beyond repair. Jesus had nothing to do with my life. If Jesus couldn't fix things up for me in the past 17 years, I didn't have any faith he'd see fit to help me now. Furthermore, since Jesus was MIA in my life, I had decided to return the favor. The really sad thing is that I'm certain she didn't recognize how contemptible I found that suggestion. It was an indication of just how completely incapable she was of understanding me or my life circumstances. Did she think I hadn't already tried prayer for years and years? I had, but not a single fucking thing I pleaded for had been granted. Screw Jesus. And Mrs. B. Nonetheless, I dutifully showed up and stopped talking about the stuff that made me want to get up every day, find a gun and kill myself. She got to feel like she wasn't a complete moron and I didn't have to subject my feelings to her idiocy. As I might have guessed, it went downhill from there.
One day, as I went from class to class, I kept having these weird encounters with my teachers. My accelerated English teacher met me at the door to her room, smiling with tears in her eyes, and gently patted me on the back. I was baffled. Then I went to my Chemistry class, which went fine until the end of the class when she asked me to stay a moment after everyone else left. After everyone had vacated the room, she started telling me what a beautiful person I was. It went on like that all day for several days. Finally it dawned on me. Mrs. B. had been sitting her fat ass in the teachers' lounge, telling everyone about the things I worked so hard to keep secret. I was enraged.
It was a watershed moment. There wasn't a fucking thing I could do about any of it. I didn't want everyone in my world to know the humiliating details of my life. I had worked so hard for so long to figure out how to appear like my life was like everyone else's. I was like an alien from a foreign land. Everything had to be re-learned so I could fit in to the normal world. Mrs. B. had just obliterated all of my work. I just knew I didn't want any more pitying looks or, for that matter, those looks that communicated just how icky everyone found the life I was living. Now that they knew.
To this very day, when I think of her, I still want to kill her. I'm sure she had quite a time at her church, patting herself on the back for winning another soul for Jesus. What an idiot.
Somewhere in that time frame, I started to live a double life. I was angry at adults, angry with the "normal" world and I stopped being such a nice girl. Not that I did anything terrible...I didn't even drink. But I felt free to give shit to people I thought deserved it and that included adults. There were teachers whose lives were made a little more miserable by my presence in their class. I refused to hide my contempt. With people I thought were intelligent enough to understand the complexity of my situation, I was still the polite, overachieving, quiet person I had always been.
Beneath the contempt, of course, was just one more heartbreak to add to list of enormous losses I'd already endured. I had been betrayed and humiliated, but I refused to allow anyone to see that they'd touched me in any way. I was forced once again to confront my aloneness in the cosmos. Just like when I was a little girl and I'd try to imagine the vastness of the universe. I rememberd how small and insignificant I was. I woke up every day with the knowledge that no one gave a happy fuck about me. Even after all I'd done to be acceptable.
Here's the quote of the day;
"At least two thirds of our miseries spring from human stupidity, human malice and those great motivators and justifiers of malice and stupidity, idealism, dogmatism and proselytizing zeal on behalf of religious or political idols." ~ Aldous Huxley
America held hostage day 1303
Bushism of the day:
"We've had a great weekend here in the land of the enchanted."
—Bush, referring to New Mexico, "The Land of Enchantment"
Source: Federal Document Clearinghouse, "George W. Bush Delivers Remarks on Jobs and Growth in Albuquerque," May 12, 2003
Website of the day; John Eccles on Mind and Brain
http://www.theosophy-nw.org/theosnw/science/prat-bra.htm
28 April 2005
27 April 2005
The Trouble With Adults
My senior year in high school was tough. The older I got, the harder it was to continue to live in my father's house. The harder it was to live with the ways he had already fucked up my life. There were times--quite a few, actually--when I was seriously suicidal. In retrospect, it's interesting that the closer I got to leaving, the more I wanted to die. It was like I just couldn't stand another day or that deep inside, I knew just how far the damage would reach into the future.
My teacher, who had blessed me with her care, got very concerned. She was pretty much the only person who was concerned about me, as usual. I was writing suicidal poems and submitting them to the literary magazine. They all got published. She took it upon herself to take me over to a state social worker (I'm guessing here--she may have been a psychologist) to see if she could keep me alive.
The social worker was a young woman, probably not out of school for very long. I remember she had light brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. I'm sure she was completely unprepared for what I had to say. It wasn't so much that my story was necessarily the worst (although it was very, very bad), but I doubt that most people who've been that fucked over for so long even understand that there was anything wrong with living that way. For those people, it's very difficult to find someone to care for them because pain and terror and sexual corruption don't make for a very appealing kid.
I don't recall how I started the tale. For years, I'd been telling it in one way or another to any adult who'd listen. The results up until then didn't inspire much hope. I told her everything. It took several sessions to get through it all. I'm not sure whether I had completely mastered dissociating at will under all conditions. There were some situations in which I had no control--I dissociated immediately even if I didn't want to. I also don't know which emotion was most visible--my anger or my pain.
So week after week, we trudged through some of the worst stories I had to tell. I liked the young woman; she didn't seem to be immediately repelled or incredulous. Right off the bat, that put her in the top two percent of adults I liked. Understandably, I had a generally negative view of the adult world. Aside from my beloved teacher, I ended up wanting to kill the last adult I'd trusted with my secrets.
I went to talk to my counselor when I was 14. My best friend had talked me into going and was kind enough to go with me. I started out with the old "my friend has a problem blah blah, etc." I wish I could remember the moron counselor's name. Anyway, I went through this wrenching tale and waited for her response. She leaned back in her chair and started telling me that everyone has problems. She herself had problems, the biggest of which was that she was paralyzed on one side of her face. Wow. How could I possibly compete with that? She told me that when she cried, tears only came out of one of her eyes. There's a cross to bear, alright. I had supreme contempt for her. How could she possibly think that compared to the Auschwitz of the life I was living? If I hadn't hated adults before, she definitely gave me a hearty shove in that direction. I still haven't forgiven her.
My point here is that I never found adults to be particularly reliable. Oh my god, I just realized what an understatement that was--it's actually almost funny. Her name just game to me--my social worker's name was Mary. After I'd laid out as much of my life as I could for her examination, she asked me what I wanted to do. I honestly didn't know there was going to be something I'd have to do. The deal was that I had to allow Mary to tell Child Protective Services (or whatever it was called then) or we were through with the sessions. It was like I'd been hit in the face with a brick. I was terrified of telling anyone because I knew that, if I wasn't taken away, I'd have created an even more dangerous situation for myself. I knew exactly what would be waiting for me at home and, even though I might have wanted to die, I wanted it to be as painless as possible. That would most certainly not be my dad's way.
Quote of the day:
"If you see a whole thing - it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives.... But close up a world's all dirt and rocks. And day to day, life's a hard job, you get tired, you lose the pattern." ~ Ursual K. Leguin
America held hostage day 1302
Bushism of the day:
"Speaking about barbaric regimes, we must deal with probably one of the most—not probably—one of the most real threats we face, and that is the idea of a barbaric regime teaming up with a terrorist network and providing weapons of mass destruction to hold the United States and our allies and our friends blackmail."
Source: FDCH Political Transcripts, "George W. Bush Participates in Alexander for Senate Luncheon," Sept. 17, 2002
Website of the Day: Dr. Andrew Weil's Self Healing
http://www.drweilselfhealing.com/default.asp
My teacher, who had blessed me with her care, got very concerned. She was pretty much the only person who was concerned about me, as usual. I was writing suicidal poems and submitting them to the literary magazine. They all got published. She took it upon herself to take me over to a state social worker (I'm guessing here--she may have been a psychologist) to see if she could keep me alive.
The social worker was a young woman, probably not out of school for very long. I remember she had light brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. I'm sure she was completely unprepared for what I had to say. It wasn't so much that my story was necessarily the worst (although it was very, very bad), but I doubt that most people who've been that fucked over for so long even understand that there was anything wrong with living that way. For those people, it's very difficult to find someone to care for them because pain and terror and sexual corruption don't make for a very appealing kid.
I don't recall how I started the tale. For years, I'd been telling it in one way or another to any adult who'd listen. The results up until then didn't inspire much hope. I told her everything. It took several sessions to get through it all. I'm not sure whether I had completely mastered dissociating at will under all conditions. There were some situations in which I had no control--I dissociated immediately even if I didn't want to. I also don't know which emotion was most visible--my anger or my pain.
So week after week, we trudged through some of the worst stories I had to tell. I liked the young woman; she didn't seem to be immediately repelled or incredulous. Right off the bat, that put her in the top two percent of adults I liked. Understandably, I had a generally negative view of the adult world. Aside from my beloved teacher, I ended up wanting to kill the last adult I'd trusted with my secrets.
I went to talk to my counselor when I was 14. My best friend had talked me into going and was kind enough to go with me. I started out with the old "my friend has a problem blah blah, etc." I wish I could remember the moron counselor's name. Anyway, I went through this wrenching tale and waited for her response. She leaned back in her chair and started telling me that everyone has problems. She herself had problems, the biggest of which was that she was paralyzed on one side of her face. Wow. How could I possibly compete with that? She told me that when she cried, tears only came out of one of her eyes. There's a cross to bear, alright. I had supreme contempt for her. How could she possibly think that compared to the Auschwitz of the life I was living? If I hadn't hated adults before, she definitely gave me a hearty shove in that direction. I still haven't forgiven her.
My point here is that I never found adults to be particularly reliable. Oh my god, I just realized what an understatement that was--it's actually almost funny. Her name just game to me--my social worker's name was Mary. After I'd laid out as much of my life as I could for her examination, she asked me what I wanted to do. I honestly didn't know there was going to be something I'd have to do. The deal was that I had to allow Mary to tell Child Protective Services (or whatever it was called then) or we were through with the sessions. It was like I'd been hit in the face with a brick. I was terrified of telling anyone because I knew that, if I wasn't taken away, I'd have created an even more dangerous situation for myself. I knew exactly what would be waiting for me at home and, even though I might have wanted to die, I wanted it to be as painless as possible. That would most certainly not be my dad's way.
Quote of the day:
"If you see a whole thing - it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives.... But close up a world's all dirt and rocks. And day to day, life's a hard job, you get tired, you lose the pattern." ~ Ursual K. Leguin
America held hostage day 1302
Bushism of the day:
"Speaking about barbaric regimes, we must deal with probably one of the most—not probably—one of the most real threats we face, and that is the idea of a barbaric regime teaming up with a terrorist network and providing weapons of mass destruction to hold the United States and our allies and our friends blackmail."
Source: FDCH Political Transcripts, "George W. Bush Participates in Alexander for Senate Luncheon," Sept. 17, 2002
Website of the Day: Dr. Andrew Weil's Self Healing
http://www.drweilselfhealing.com/default.asp
Another Reason Why Work Makes Me Want to Beat My Head Against a Wall
I used to be the person at my office who was responsible for staff supervision, until I got sick of not getting support from anyone and stopped doing it. (Yes, I can do that.) So now, four years later, the two people who are supposed to be supervising have found that it's infinitely easier just to talk to each other (whine and complain and generally get worked up) about problems with the people they are supposed to be supervising. Or they talk to me. If there's a problem with one of the staff members, no one tells them so guess what? That's right! They keep on having the same problems over and over and over. Can you see how this could drive me crazy?
The current manifestation of this problem is with Karen. She sent an email several weeks ago to S (yes, one of the supervisors), asking her to talk with J. regarding a raise (who is S's supervisor). S. then forwarded that email to me, asking how I thought she should handle it, given the fact that when J. hears about this, his head is going to explode. I wrote her back with several options. I did that because S. is a friend I've worked with for a good decade or so. It doesn't really matter what the options were, but suffice it to say that I provided her with a couple of ways to sidestep the issue and a couple of ways to be honest. I was fairly certain that honesty would not be the chosen route, since it would involve a certain amount of confrontation and, hence, dealing with Karen when she started to cry. Karen's a big cryer and I can't think of anything more likely to cause her to cry than actual constructive criticism.
Yesterday, I was sitting in S's office when she brought up the dreaded raise problem. She had just decided to ignore the email. I don't know--maybe she thought Karen would take a hint. Well she thought wrong. Karen got tired of waiting and forwarded the original email to J and the owner of the company. As we discussed this turn of events, J. walks in and S. has to tell him what we were talking about. The first words out of his mouth were, "Well, she doesn't want to hear from me." Nothing that Karen does makes him happy. There's absolutely nothing positive he can say about her. So what's the solution? Well, he could actually think about it and find specific areas in which she should improve, but oh no, that would be too hard.
This morning when I'm talking to S., J. starts again. "She doesn't want to hear from me because she never does anything right." I suggested that since she doesn't do anything adequately, maybe now is a good time to give her oh i don't know some idea that they're unhappy with her work. Oh no. Heavens no. He tells S. to deal with it.
Doesn't he get it? S. doesn't want to deal with it. They'd much rather sit around a whine and complain about her (and several other people on staff) to me and to each other. Oh my God this drives me absolutely fucking insane!
Okay, that's it. I'm through complaining for the day (I think). We're having happy admin professional day today at lunch. Oh boy. That'll be fun.
The current manifestation of this problem is with Karen. She sent an email several weeks ago to S (yes, one of the supervisors), asking her to talk with J. regarding a raise (who is S's supervisor). S. then forwarded that email to me, asking how I thought she should handle it, given the fact that when J. hears about this, his head is going to explode. I wrote her back with several options. I did that because S. is a friend I've worked with for a good decade or so. It doesn't really matter what the options were, but suffice it to say that I provided her with a couple of ways to sidestep the issue and a couple of ways to be honest. I was fairly certain that honesty would not be the chosen route, since it would involve a certain amount of confrontation and, hence, dealing with Karen when she started to cry. Karen's a big cryer and I can't think of anything more likely to cause her to cry than actual constructive criticism.
Yesterday, I was sitting in S's office when she brought up the dreaded raise problem. She had just decided to ignore the email. I don't know--maybe she thought Karen would take a hint. Well she thought wrong. Karen got tired of waiting and forwarded the original email to J and the owner of the company. As we discussed this turn of events, J. walks in and S. has to tell him what we were talking about. The first words out of his mouth were, "Well, she doesn't want to hear from me." Nothing that Karen does makes him happy. There's absolutely nothing positive he can say about her. So what's the solution? Well, he could actually think about it and find specific areas in which she should improve, but oh no, that would be too hard.
This morning when I'm talking to S., J. starts again. "She doesn't want to hear from me because she never does anything right." I suggested that since she doesn't do anything adequately, maybe now is a good time to give her oh i don't know some idea that they're unhappy with her work. Oh no. Heavens no. He tells S. to deal with it.
Doesn't he get it? S. doesn't want to deal with it. They'd much rather sit around a whine and complain about her (and several other people on staff) to me and to each other. Oh my God this drives me absolutely fucking insane!
Okay, that's it. I'm through complaining for the day (I think). We're having happy admin professional day today at lunch. Oh boy. That'll be fun.
26 April 2005
Feral Kitties and a Movie Option
Just a little catching up to do. The guy that my boss was trying to impress by redoing the office and actually tidying up his own office (achieved by just cramming things willy nilly into cardboard boxes) arrived for a visit last week. Here's the real absurdity: After all of that effort, my boss decided not to hire him. God, I'm afraid to think about what will happen when they locate another candidate.
On the feral kitty front, one of our oldest kitties finally allowed me to pet him. He was born about five years ago and he's come and gone several times since then. He'll come by for a month or so and then leave for months at a time. Then he'll turn up again. He's been with us now for several months. He's absolutely beautiful--gold with a leonine head. He's a very big guy and, much like the other big guy (my dog) in my life, he's not that interested in moving around too much. For the longest time, if I didn't manage to toss his treats directly to him, he just was not going to get them. Even if my aim was only a couple of inches away from him. Today, I was handing out treats and he came within an arm's length of me. I gave him his treats and just reached over and petted him. After he finished his treats, he smelled my hand and decided he'd move a little farther away. As soon as I started handing out more treats, he came right over and let me pet him again. This is a major accomplishment and I'm very touched that he trusts me.
I've been immersed in basketball since Sunday. My old friends would never guess that I've got a major basketball jones. I used to be adamantly anti-sports of all kinds. I don't understand why I can't have a basketball playoff leave. Well, while we're at it, I think a March Madness leave would also be nice.
Hubby has had three queries regarding optioning one of his books for a movie. No one is getting too excited yet because these things may not necessarily pan out. The book has been optioned twice (I think, maybe three times) before. Obviously, they never made a movie. Hubby would like for that to hapen, but he's pretty happy with just getting option cash.
I've been getting a reprieve from eating at home this week. Man, once you have a taste of real food, it's hard to go back to jerky.
Here's the quote of the day;
"If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man but deteriorate the cat." ~ Mark Twain
America held hostage day 1301
Bushism of the day:
"Oftentimes, we live in a processed world—you know, people focus on the process and not results."
—Bush, speaking on the Middle East peace process
Source: Public Papers of the Presidents, "Interview With Print Journalists," June 2, 2003
Website of the day; Investigating New Imperialism
http://www.williambowles.info/
On the feral kitty front, one of our oldest kitties finally allowed me to pet him. He was born about five years ago and he's come and gone several times since then. He'll come by for a month or so and then leave for months at a time. Then he'll turn up again. He's been with us now for several months. He's absolutely beautiful--gold with a leonine head. He's a very big guy and, much like the other big guy (my dog) in my life, he's not that interested in moving around too much. For the longest time, if I didn't manage to toss his treats directly to him, he just was not going to get them. Even if my aim was only a couple of inches away from him. Today, I was handing out treats and he came within an arm's length of me. I gave him his treats and just reached over and petted him. After he finished his treats, he smelled my hand and decided he'd move a little farther away. As soon as I started handing out more treats, he came right over and let me pet him again. This is a major accomplishment and I'm very touched that he trusts me.
I've been immersed in basketball since Sunday. My old friends would never guess that I've got a major basketball jones. I used to be adamantly anti-sports of all kinds. I don't understand why I can't have a basketball playoff leave. Well, while we're at it, I think a March Madness leave would also be nice.
Hubby has had three queries regarding optioning one of his books for a movie. No one is getting too excited yet because these things may not necessarily pan out. The book has been optioned twice (I think, maybe three times) before. Obviously, they never made a movie. Hubby would like for that to hapen, but he's pretty happy with just getting option cash.
I've been getting a reprieve from eating at home this week. Man, once you have a taste of real food, it's hard to go back to jerky.
Here's the quote of the day;
"If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man but deteriorate the cat." ~ Mark Twain
America held hostage day 1301
Bushism of the day:
"Oftentimes, we live in a processed world—you know, people focus on the process and not results."
—Bush, speaking on the Middle East peace process
Source: Public Papers of the Presidents, "Interview With Print Journalists," June 2, 2003
Website of the day; Investigating New Imperialism
http://www.williambowles.info/
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