When It's Time To Quit

As you know, after my short stay in the Rubber Room Regency, I enrolled in their Outpatient Program. I really didn't have any clue what was involved in this program; however the Discharge Agent assured me it was a stellar place to use up some quality time, and I'd be all the more healthy for being there. A few things were left out, like how I pay for it, and that their billing system was based on an abacus missing a few stones, but the program in general would be good for my mental stability.

The basis of this program is primarily in-house-lunatic-run. That means we go to class and while there are session leaders, nurses charting our every thought, and actual Therapists (T!), we make the program work by helping each other out. Develop relationships, participate in the classes (which run the gamut from how to deal with anxiety issues to depression to mania to basic health), and then when the Therapists have their sessions (notice the upper case *T* on therapist!), we are to "process."

Processing is fun for everyone! This is when the Therapist (T!) asks if anyone has any pressing issues to be worked out during that particular hour (um, 45 minutes). If we're playing coy, the Therapist (T!) will draw the loonie out until he/she spills it. Once there's been the requisite spilling of guts, the group gets to offer their suggestions as to what can be done to help the situation improve. Since many of the whacknuts have been there for a considerable length of time, there is ALWAYS a contingent who want to tell the others how to fix themselves. It's a fine time to show their friends, their frenemies (oh yes), the newbies and the Therapist (T!) just how much they've learned.

This is one aspect of the program I have always taken very seriously. When people share during this portion of the program, it often has an air of seriousness. Now don't get me wrong. Some of it makes me scratch my head and go "huh?" But I always give it credence when it's due, because these are people who need legitimate help. Typically I wait until others have offered their input so that I can hear the answers of the person in crisis, so I can get a better idea of his/her state of mind before I offer any of my own insights.

It's important to note I've been doing Therapy (T!) for nearly eight years. Three of those years were with a psychotherapist in my old town before my divorce from the abuser who worked so hard to ruin my life, and the last five with Dr. Doolittle, who has guided me through my ... "entry and education"... into the world of mental illness. Bastard. Anyway. Because of this, I have learned to listen and try to find the real issue beneath the problem. So often people attempt to fix issues with bandaid solutions rather than looking deeper to see what lies beneath, drawing it to the surface and working with the REAL concern.

I like to think I've helped. I'm self-centered that way ~ and I am also realistic and smart enough to know that most of these people forget what I say as soon as the Therapist (T!) releases us from Group. And that makes me sad, because for some, I think I may have done some good if they had opened their minds enough to hear. But when you have many others who offer Hello Kitty bandaids, it's just a whole lot easier to ignore the things that are hard to implement.

Wow, did I ever go off track. What was the name of this post? Oh yeah, When It's Time To Quit.

There have been a few times when it has been MY turn to process. Early on it was like pulling teeth. I HATE TALKING IN FRONT OF STRANGERS. But I learned and eventually started to share on my own. There were a few people who offered assistance when I shared, but the thing was, I didn't really give too much of myself for them to get into. I had a real fear of having them see my dark side, and the one time I let loose, I paid for it in spades: I alienated my few friends for several days and had to write letters of apology. Ugh. They were gracious enough to understand.

Recently I decided it was time to share. After a particularly painful incident at home, I brought it up at Processing Class. After the Therapist (T!) discussed it with me, he opened the floor to the rest of the class for help. You could have heard a pin drop. I waited ... he waited ... we waited ...

So there it was. What I had offered to the others was certainly not going to be coming back in my direction. I don't know if it was simply too difficult, too odd, too uncomfortable, or what. But there was no one in that class who could offer me any insight. That's when I realized that all the arguing I had done with my Insurance Company to stay in the program had been a waste of precious mental energy. These people didn't need or want me, so what the HELL was I doing there?

There are a few people I'll miss; I made friends with a couple of women who are quite interesting. None of them truly get or understand the real me, but that's something that died with my best friend. What they offer is camaraderie, and an understanding of my illness. There is a new woman I felt had the potential to become a great friend and I'm disappointed that I cannot foster that friendship as she has no way to stay in touch.

And behold! There is one Therapist (T!) who actually has his head on straight and a true sense of humour. While I don't think I ever let him see quite what he wanted to see (or too much?), I did occasionally verbally vomit on him. The other Therapists (T!) tended to irritate me; my feeling was that they had a script for each crisis, and rarely deviated. That really annoys me. If you're going to phone in your workday, do it from ... home?

The psychiatrist who treated me during my stay was fantastic. I'd like to keep her, but unfortunately I have to go back to Dr. Dreadful who frightens small children and causes them to shrink back into doorways as she passes ... I've seen rabid raccoons with better bedside manner.

I have one more week of the program. But since I was sick this week, I can carry it over another. After that, I have a Discharge Program which lasts several weeks/months. It simply allows me to wean off the program gradually, but since it means I have to attend earlier in the day, and process with a Therapist (T!) whose ego is as inflated as his waistline, I'm not terribly keen. Consequently I haven't decided on whether or not I'll attend. It WOULD give me the ability to see the women I care about, but I'd have to be there ridiculously early (I am NOT a morning person), and the classes I attend are nursing (big deal!) and processing with the Therapist (T!) Terrorist.

Alas, my stay at the Rubber Room Regency is coming to an end. I'm not sure what I'll do to fill the time, since one of its advantages was getting me out of bed, dressed and out of the house. However, if I learned anything I will have to actually DO them: find another reason to get up and moving; make an effort to leave the house. Make that commitment to keep in touch with the friends I've made, and see if maybe, just maybe, some of what that Therapist (T!) said was right: I really can be ok.

Terms Of Endearment

"I traded housekeeping for sex!"

A statement made so casually, meant in jest ~ but as always, the simplest things strike the deepest.

Since this new life has overtaken me, I have traded usefulness for uselessness, excitement for apathy, liveliness for hollowness. Where I used to hold down a meaningful job, I now wallow in unemployment. Instead of the sparkling home I once enjoyed, we fight a losing battle with dust and magazines, laundry and unmade beds.

The most common sight on any given day sees me sitting curled up in a corner of the sofa, laptop in hand, tv on, lost in thought. There are so many things I want to do ~ NEED to do ~ but it's as if there are lead weights attached to my arms and legs and I am unable to perform even the simplest of tasks. Eventually, some time before noon, I'll end up in tears. I'll berate myself for being what I am: sick, stupid, useless, lazy. Before long will come the promises that I know I won't keep: tomorrow I WILL clean! I'll make sure that the bathrooms are done and the laundry is finished. A time is set ...

And tomorrow when that time comes, I'm back on that sofa, eyes closed, staring into space wondering what happened to the once-energetic woman who cleaned and coached and baked and raised children. How did this happen?

Yes, folks, this is the face of depression in all its ugly truth.

What's odd is that while the vast majority of women lose interest in sex as well as everything else when they suffer from depression, I do not. Despite taking a whackload of medication that should leave me in a stupor and sexless, I am still wildly turned on by my husband. Which brings us to where we are tonight.

My son is coming to visit. I cannot, in all my pride, have him see my home in this state of disarray. So I swallowed my pride and asked my husband to help me with it. While most people think this should be the norm, it's important to note that he works very long hours, while I don't work at all; but I knew I wouldn't get it done if I didn't have some sort of help. So I asked: just do whichever thing you hate least!

I apologized, at one point, for the fact that it was so dusty. His very cheerful reaction was, "I traded housekeeping for sex!" meaning his first wife kept a much tidier home, but .... well, you know where this is going.

What he can't possibly know is how much it stings. For five years I have been working with a therapist who has banged his head against his desk repeatedly as I have told him that my only worth is through sexual engagement. Time and time again I have shared my intimate thoughts concerning my ability to hold or lose those I love, through sex.

Could it be I was right all along? Is it true that my only value to others is through what I can perform with my body? Because if it is, I'm in really big trouble.

Monday MeMe on Tuesday

From Chris' Blog .....

Why did the chicken cross the road? 

He saw me coming with the knife. 

What was your last thought? 

I'm thrilled Dave won Hell's Kitchen. 

Are you a cat or a dog person? 

Dog, although I like cats. 

Define yourself in 3 words... 

Dangerous and entertaining.

Kill the spider or let it out? 

Depends who is home. If kid is here, he can rescue it. If I'm alone, the bastard is dead meat.

Do you shower every single day? 

Nope (sniffs); should I? 

Walking past a beggar, spare change or ignore? 

Usually a dollar.

Where do you want to travel next? 

Canada 

What is your favorite food? 

Steak w/garlic-oregano marinade

Do you read harry potter books? 

Not a one. 

What is your favorite place? 

Banff, Alberta 

If you could have one super human power what would you choose? 

Flying 

Have you had a beer in the last week? 

Nope

Vitamin Water or Gatorade? 

Vitamin water, but I prefer water. 

What is your favorite song of all time? 

Something by Queen .....

When and where was the best picture of you taken?

At Newport Beach.

Monday Meldown

One day there was this woman who was in Crazy Classes, because she had a handful of mental illnesses and her insurance company felt that it was better for her to be in Crazy Classes every day than actually in lockdown at the Rubber Room Regency (AMEN!). 

During these classes, various topics were discussed that might help this woman in a host of real-life areas. This particular Monday the topic was, "Making and Maintaining Friendships." Foolishly, the woman, whom we'll call Meggy for obvious reasons, felt that this was a safe topic to discuss within the class for two reasons: she NEEDED to learn how to make and maintain friendships as she was more adept at buggering them up than holding on to them, and since she didn't think very deeply about it, she didn't really come up with any areas that seemed inherently dangerous in the topic.

Silly woman.

Fifty-one years ago, a beautiful baby was born in rural Canada. She grew into a multi-talented woman, gifted in so many areas including painting, sewing, writing, singing ~ basically ANYTHING creative to do with her hands, mind or voice. But more important than that was the beauty that glowed from within. She was so loving and gentle; an incredible mother, a great listener, humourous and ... my friend. My best friend. 

My best friend struggled with her health throughout her life. It wasn't fair, really. She did so much for so many others, and yet she was forced to struggle for 50 years to maintain her own health.  Where is the parity here? Hm, doesn't make sense. But she NEVER, ever complained. That simply wasn't in her genetic make-up. Rather, she laughed, worked, and carried on, more interested in others than in herself.

On July 22, 2009, my BF passed away. 

There is a link here, between the class, and my friend. You see, when I thought that the class would be safe, I never for a second imagined that our Session Leader would toss out quotes from other people that hit so close to home that my face exploded. I never knew what hit me.

"A good friend will stay at your bedside through death." 

I WOULD HAVE! I TRIED! But they wouldn't let me! No one would let me see her ... no one would let me in! My BF, my beautiful BF was in intensive care and the "rules" stated that only family was allowed to see her. The knowledge that she was dying didn't seem to click with anyone and consequently, I was never allowed to say good bye to the woman who had been my dearest ally for twenty years. And it crushed me. 

So out of nowhere, I begin to sob, great wrenching sobs. I completely LOST MY SHIT in that damned room, with a dozen people watching, all wondering, WTF? Even *I* wondered WTF? There I was, normally rational and even somewhat cold, my walls typically firmly in place, suddenly blubbering, complete with copious quantities of snot, convulsing as I wrapped my arms around my backpack, having utterly lost the ability to speak. 

At the end of that nauseous class, I gathered myself and my things, and staggered out, quite literally. During the drive home, and all that afternoon, I rethought the two weeks that I had spent in rural Canada after she had died, and what I had contributed to the celebration of her life. Her family had been kind enough to ask me to give a eulogy and while it was desperately difficult, I managed. I SO didn't want to do it! I don't do well at public speaking; but I felt it was the least I could do for a woman who had shared so much with me. Rather than being just another face in the crowd, her boys included me in everything from start to finish, making me part of the family. My son was a pallbearer, since he and her son were dear friends as well. But no matter how I think it through, I cannot understand why she's gone. I didn't know she was so ill, and I have not come to grips with not saying good bye. 

As usual, I carry a hefty dose of guilt. She was such a good friend and I don't feel that I reciprocated in a manner that befitted her. That sounds so lame! But it's true: I talked more, she listened. She gave, I took. That's how it was. I tried, though. She just was who she was. My BF was all giving ... and now she's gone.

Sadness and Fear

I have a headache. This in itself is nothing new. But tomorrow is a big day for me and I have no time for a headache. I'm medicating and praying for it to disappear. This is all an aside to what I actually plan on writing about, which is far more interesting than me bitching about myself. Wait ~ isn't that the definition of a blog?

I don't know when it happened, exactly. It could have been gradual, or it could have come slamming down like a meteor, but things in my relationship have changed dramatically. According to my therapist (whom I generally respect), ALL relationships change as time passes. It's growth. Well, if you don't like the direction it's going, is it still growth? He (the therapist) says yes, and I need to learn to adapt. I say Fuck That Shit, how do I get it back to the way I had it before?

There's no question I'm needy. But is it needy to want your spouse to want you? Is it needy to want your significant other to come home and look at you with lust and passion, rather than be making  joking comments that seem less than sincere? I have an extremely high sex drive: I know this. We made a great team because we positively burned together. We were FREAKS. But over the past year, things have changed: I'm his friend. I know he loves me. But dammit, I want him to want me!

The past few weeks have been the hardest because I had this mental meltdown that left me incarcerated in the Rubber Room Regency for around a week. I know it really threw him for a loop, and he's a bit unsure of himself with me. He doesn't know exactly how to act around me, and he's frightened of any behaviour that deviates from the norm. This is very stressful for him, but aside from that, he has his own mental health issues to deal with; once he realized that I was relatively stable, he crashed. The unfortunate part of all this is that I am not healthy enough to fully take care of him in the way I would like to. So both of us are just out here on our own, trying to make it. On top of that, I'm resentful of the lack of passion I'm trying to adjust to, and the worst of it all ...

I am really, really not healthy.

The time in the Rubber Room Regency managed to do nothing except piss me off, although I imagine I'm less dangerous at this time than I was then. However my moods are all over the place, and maybe that's part of the problem with my lover? Has he just had enough? Each day I go out to Day Classes, and while some of it is helpful, it's also frustrating beyond belief because I have to deal with other people, some of whom are positively bananas. I've met two people I quite like, but I also know that I am brilliant at blowing relationships, so I don't expect the friendships to last.

This post has gone everywhere but where it should. I'm frustrated, sad, frightened and confused. I wish this was a topic I could bring up for discussion at Crazy Class, but somehow I think they'd disaprove ...

What Do YOU Think?

This short clip was posted by someone's dickhead brother on Youtube. I've seen it various places since then. While I'm sure some people find it amusing, I'm interested in finding out what OTHERS see in it.

I have an opinion. Of COURSE I have an opinion. Watch it. Think about it. What do you see?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YersIyzsOpc&feature=player_embedded#t=23

Oh Gawd, SHUT UP

Just when it can't get worse, it does.

Today was an exercise in restraint for me, and I have to tell you, I got more exercise than I need. My morning went relatively well; the Session Leaders were interesting, and I was taking away information that I can use in my life when I'm done with the Rubber Room Regency, Outpatient Floor.

But you know, whenever things are going in a positive direction, I should really know that the crap's going to hit the fan in a most Picasso-esque manner. 

Every few days, the dynamics of our crew change as people leave and join the group. There's a clique who've firmly entrenched themselves in the corner of the room, and Oh Em Gee, these people think they're just that much better, and just that much funnier than everyone else in the room. At my age, I really didn't think I'd have to watch people talk behind their hands during class, eat potato chips loudly enough to disrupt the speaker, drink coffee, pop their gum, wander in and out at will, and as I've mentioned before, question the Session Leader about his or her personal life. 

Today, we were graced with a new member of the group: a lovely gentleman who has apparently been with the program before, but if you ask me, didn't learn anything, least of all any manners. He CERTAINLY didn't learn anything about inside and outside voices. The Corner Clique was thrilled beyond belief to see him, and the conversation began outside of the room, continued on while they settled in their chairs, and didn't stop, despite the class starting. The most frustrating part of this for me is that our Class Leader today hasn't got the fuzzy dice between her legs to tell this group to shut the hell up. Their new groupie was particularly vocal, offering his opinion on every statement made by every other participant in the room. And he did it LOUDLY. AND MOST OF THE TIME IT DIDN'T MAKE ANY SENSE. AND IF IT DID MAKE SENSE, IT WAS OFF-TOPIC. 

Yes, I'm yelling. Why? Because that's how it felt the entire time that turd was in the room: like he was yelling (he was). I was not the only one who felt that way. I finally hit a point where I decided that if there was one more outburst, I was going to leave the room. With five minutes left in the session, he asked how much time was left. "Five minutes." Apparently this was far too long for him to wait to get a drink: he got up, left the room, and came back a minute later with some kind of orange beverage. Thank GAWD no one made him sit that extra few minutes 'til the clock reached 2pm ~ could have been fatal.

This is precisely the type of person who triggers my rage in a way that frightens me. Rage that makes me want to verbally assault him. I can do it: I have the skillz. It makes me want to grab one of the many walkers in the room (and they're lined up like it's Senior's Day at the Bowl-a-rama) and just smack him square in the mouth, over and over. And once he's down on the ground, writhing and bleeding, my foot will just naturally find it's way to his chest and I'll grind my size 8.5 stiletto into his rather plump breast until he blubbers like the dickwad he is ...

Am I going too far? Is it still wrong if it makes me feel just that much better?

Sure, I Knew That.

Today, one of my nut-mates was sharing with the group some of the things that have drawn her to our program. I'm not entirely certain how to define my relationship with this woman. She's more than an acquaintance, but I don't know if we're friends. After all, if we were friends, wouldn't I have known what it was she was about to share?

Late last week, before I got to class, this woman, whom I call Mo, had a seizure. She was hauled away to the hospital in an ambulance, and very little information was shared, as hospital policy dictates. Hell, if I had a note on my forehead stating I wanted certain people to know, I still doubt they'd tell anyone. The less said, the better, you know. Anyway, so Mo was taken away, and we were left to wonder how she was getting along. While she was gone, I learned from another acquaintance that she also has lupus. Hm. Why don't I know this?

Today Mo came back. It turns out that she's going to be coming just three days a week, because she needs the extra rest. She's feeling better, just tired out.

During one of the "processing" classes, she brought a few things up, one of which left me dumb-founded. This lady was nearly killed by some lunatic many years ago. She still bears the scars both physically and emotionally of this incredibly vicious attack. 

How did I not know? How did she not share this ? I was stunned as this came out during our class, but managed to carry on anyway. I feel terrible for her, but was surprised it never came out sooner.

I wonder sometimes if this is just part and parcel of my narcissistic personality. Am I so involved with myself that things like this simply go on around me and I don't notice? Could it be happening everywhere and I'm too self-centered to see? That's a terribly frightening and sad thought for me. I like to think that I am on top of things, that I notice what's going down. Did this just slip through my radar? Or am I just so caught up in my own anger these days that no one's feelings but my own seem to matter? That, too is terribly sad.

For tomorrow, and the next few days, I'll make an effort to see what else is going on in the world around me. Whether I like it or not, the sun does not rise and set in my ass.