What "lack of insight" looks like.

Mr. Thing was in my office because he's really pissed at his daughter.  Mainly because, well, she isn't he person he thinks she should be.  She mouths off to him.  Mutters expletives under her breath.

He talked at great length about all the stuff he'd done for his kids, how awesome he was.  This went on until I was ready to mutter expletives.  Finally, I asked him:
I'd like to back up just a second and ask you about something you just said, a few minutes ago.  You were talking about your sons, and you said, 'I live my life through my children'.

Yeah?


Well, I'm wondering what that means to you.  


I don't know what you mean.  I mean, I want to do everything for them that nobody did for me.  So I do everything for them.  My daughter, she's a great public speaker, so I pulled some strings to get her a job working in a TV studio.  I always wanted to wrestle, so I pulled some strings to get my kids into wrestling.  But do you think they appreciate it?  No.

I'm wondering if you know that you can't actually "live your life" through them...that they are distinct and separate.


I don't get what you mean.  What's wrong with giving them direction?  I pull strings, I make sure they get the opportunities they need.   Nobody did that for me, nobody.


Oh, nothing, but I'm thinking, well, you're a self-made man, after all, and I recognize that you pulled yourself with a great deal of difficulty to become the person you are today. 


I am.  Nobody ever helped me, nobody.  It was tough.  I mean, I came from shit.  Just absolute shit, the barrio.  I made my own way in the world.  I had nothing.  Now I have a $350,000 house, and my own business.


 It seems like you're probably a better man for having figured out and solved all your problems.  Wouldn't you say?


yes.  So, what's your point?

Would you say that you learned a lot solving your problems on your own?  That you're a wiser man for it?


Yes.  But I don't want my kids to suffer like I did.  I do things for them so that they can be successful without having to work as hard as I did.

I'm wondering if you think it might be useful to step back and let your kids make mistakes, and solve problems, so that they can have that feeling that you have, of having solved their own problems. 


I don't get what you're telling me.  Are you saying that a father shouldn't try to help his children?  Are you saying I should just let them fail?

It's just that...when you tell your kids what to do, and how to do it, and as you say, 'pull strings' so that they get what they want, you're sending the message that they can't do it on their own.  


I don't see it that way.

How do you see it?


I see it as a dad who loves his kids.

And the feeling you have now, the anger because they aren't becoming the people you think they should become, and they don't appreciate the strings you've pulled, how do you see that?


I don't get what you mean.


...

Wednesdays with Nan.

More time with my therapist this weekend.  She asked lots of questions.  Was I uncomfortable in large spaces...small spaces...what was it that made me uncomfortable?  I finally figured out some things.
it's not the space that bugs me.  It's the ability leave, to get out, to get to safety that bothers me.  If it's not there, I'm not feeling safe.  I don't like being where I can't get away...get home...get somewhere.

So, traffic.  I avoid traffic.  I don't mind the freeway, because where i live, it flows pretty well.

So, the grocery...I use the little carts, so that I can maneuver.  I think what bothers me about it is that, there's all these things that could happen, so I need to be able to get out of there quickly.

What about traveling?  you have to be gone from home for a long time...how do you manage that?


I'm always with Himself.  He takes care of everything.  No matter what I need, he'll get it for me.  He's safety.    I'll go anywhere with him.

Is there anything you absolutely won't do because it's so uncomfortable, this feeling of not getting away/

Uh, well, hell yeah.  I won't cycle.  Not with friends.  I've been stranded, I've had accidents, you're clipped into this stupid contraption and if you decide to go off in a different directions, you can't always do it  those tiny wheels restrict your travel surface.  So does the traffic.  Not with running.  You can pretty much run anywhere.

But didn't you tell me you were having panic attacks before big runs?  What are you thinking then?

Sometimes.  I like to be close to home, or to the car.

What do you imagine will happen?  What do you do to prevent it from happening?

So, to be safe on long runs, I'll take a whole bunch of shit with me.  TP, inhaler, whatever I might need.  Money.  Bottles.  Still.  it's not easy.  

Have you ever tried to travel alone?

Yes, but I had a lot with me, way more than I needed, just in case.  

How do you manage being in places where time isn't a constant...like at the hair dressers?

I create a huge cushion around the time, so that there is no chance of me being late anywhere else.  I hate being late.  I hate it when people make me late.  I guess, what it all boils down to, is that I hate being hindered in any way.  

Hey.  Maybe that's why I get so bitchy when Himself makes me late for something.  it's being confined, it's being, well, held back.

What do you imagine will happen as a result of being late?

I imagine....I imagine, well, that I'll be...um, well, not on time.  It's not the late.  It's the feeling that I'm being prevented from being where I need to be.  When I'm late, I'm rushed.  I hate that.  

Hmm.  So here we have: I don't like being hindered.  That explains a lot, I guess.  

Last weekend.

I did an ultra marathon this weekend.  I did it without Xanax.  I started having a panic attack, so I slapped myself in the face instead.

I'll have to process that one with my therapist.  All I know is, it worked.

Sell-outs.

I've spent the better part of the past week re-telling the medicaid administrator for this state what I had already told them.
This, for the record, is a for-profit company.  The longer they can hold onto money, the more money they make.  For instance:

• I told them that a patient had a history of running away, including from treatment, and had attempted suicide 3 times, and was once found stoned, wondering down the highway (on foot).  They asked me to "please specify the patient's high risk behaviors".
• I told them that another patient had been raped more than once as a child, was hypervigilant, tried not to think about it, avoided things that reminded her of it, had nightmares about it, and drank heavily to forget about it . I was then asked, "please specify the details regarding this patient's diagnosis of PTSD." 
• I told them about a boy with Asperger's disorder who needs hospitalization because he keeps punching himself in the face when he's angry, and if that doesn't make him feel better, he starts punching the wall and anyone around him.  He's about 6' too, so that's pretty formidable.  They wanted to know if I had "met him face-to-face."  

They do this shit to delay treatment for a day or two, that way more interest can be earned on their money, money money for their stockholders. 

There's one person in particular, who is a local, in charge of "utilization and review" for this company.  That's corporatespeak for, "try to pay as little in claims as possible" or, "hang onto the money a day or so longer"

Turns out, she and I know some of the same people.  She's got the same kind of license I do.  Things I'd like to say to her include Tell me, when exactly did you sell out? 

and: When did you decide, "hey, what I really want in life is a job where I deprive children and the disabled of the care that they need?"  


or what it: "When I grow up, I want to work for a company that sucks so badly that small health providers are forced to close their doors due to lack of payment, and the state sanctions them...and then finally tells them that they are fired as of this next summer."


Are you some kind of derranged Republican asshole who things that adding several more layers between treatment and patient will surely make things more efficient?

I'm glad the state has put your company on notice and that you'll be replaced soon.  I hope you have a real hard time finding a job.  I hope you suffer, you sell-out.  I sure as crap wouldn't hire you. I don't trust you do act in the best interest of patients.

Signed,
That hippie you keep emailing stupid questions.
...

Signs of a bad economy.

Saturday I literally, I mean literally, didn't have time to have a panic attack. Every time I felt nervous, I would fun faster. That'll teach you, panic attacks! 

Well, I have now had my car broken into and my home broken into, within weeks of each other, by motherfuckers too lazy and antisocial to go rape their sisters.  There, I said it.  Fuckers.  They stole our very nice huge flat screen TV, a blue-ray DVD player, another flat screen in the bedroom, and Himself's laptop, and they kicked in the door, breaking the doorframe and lock. We have another flatscreen in the garage that I am, for now, too lazy to move.

We bought very high deductables back when we were both gainfully and well-employed and didn't have two mortgages.  The first night after the break-in, I was okay, but the 2nd night, well, I lay awake imaging that I heard all sorts of noises. I know, wah, wah, but still.  We are hurting.  We will not have TVs for a while. 

I feel like shit because I'm the one that forgot to lock the security door on the only vulnerable door in the house, the one they kicked in to get in the house. 

Himself used this as an excuse to suggest dogs, to, you know, make me feel safer.  And I, of course, went along with it.  Why not?  How much trouble can a dog be?

Well.  So now my garage is full of dog crap smell.  The shed that I was going to convert to an artist workshop some day I WAS, I AM NOT KIDDING SOMEDAY, DON'T PUSH ME is now a dog house. 

But.  I noticed that on my first run with my pooch, I didn't have time to stop and have a panic attack.  I was too busy trying not to get jerked off my feet.  I also ran a loop I've run before faster than I ever have before.  This morning, by 6 am, I'd run a dog around the block and was WIDE FUCKING AWAKE.

At one point we had them out in the back yard, but then I happened to walk by the kitchen door and saw them both huddled together, shivering. Well, shit.  I'm not cruel.  So we had them come in.  Someone walked up to the front door, and they barked like mad, and then settled down. One of them lay on my feet while I worked on a paper. Ahhh. Safety. I like it. Even if it does smell like dog.

A person said to me recently that between the no tvs and dogs, I should lose like, a million pounds.  I'd be happy to lose the nervousness I feel when I'm home alone.  But the pounds would be nice, too. 

...

Bet you never tried it.

So.  Himself redeemed himself pretty well by telling that he never thought I'd feel that strongly, and apologizing.

Today.  Well, today was the day I do my long training run.  Twenty miles planned.  I spent most of the pre-dawn morning ringing my hands and worrying.  About what?

• What if I twist my ankle?
• What if I break my leg?
• What if I get really cold?
• What if I trip and run headlong into a tree?
• What if I fell into a ravine?
• What if I get hit in the back by a mountain biker?
• What if I can't run any more, and it's too cold to walk?

The running was impossible.  So, I told Himself that I could hike it.  Not run it.  So we hiked it.  As much as I dreaded this run, as much as I dreaded leaving the house, I knew I had to get out there.  So, I did.

Himself has the annoying habit of telling me how slowly we're going.  This is a fairly useless endeavor; it's not unlike being tailgated by a large 4x4.  I slow down.  I don't speed up.  

The panic attack got worse.  I'd already taken a Xanax, so finally, reluctantly, I took a 2nd.

WELL.

Have you ever tried to run just chock full of sleeping medication? Me neither.  At one point, I was stoned and stumbling.  Finally the real sleepiness part wore off and I finished over twenty miles.

But I finished it.

Then I ate a pizza, and drank some nice red wine.

Uh. Yeah.

I have a job that I love.

I'm good at it.

They love me.  In fact, I was told that I was awesome.

I've talked about it nonstop at home, to you: I've told you how I love it, how they think I'm awesome.  How, for the first time, I feel like a professional, and like I'm doing something that is just mine.  All mine.

Why on earth would you tell me that there's a job opening where you work, that has nothing to do with what I'm doing, and that you've had the idea that I should apply for it?  Then get all pissy when I tell you that I don't want to apply for it?

"It's double the money," you said.

So now I feel like shit, because I'm the selfish one.

Well.

I spent my kids entire childhood working in public schools so that I could be a better mother.  I picked up kids from school, went to school meetings, usually alone.

I was the one in charge of children, all day long, mine and everyone else's.  I was the one who put my life on hold, for twenty years.  Me.

When my friends were in college, I was wiping noses and changing diapers, making people feel good, and being there.  Just being there.  When my family needed me.

I watched the world around me, the people in that I knew, start their careers, change their careers.  Live their lives.  Go places.  Have experiences.
My friends went to graduate school and started doing the things they love.  When my kids were going through puberty and slamming doors at me, I was getting postcards from everywhere.

I waited until I was old enough to have to compete for jobs against girls fresh out of grad school and nearly 20 years younger than me.  I put together graduate school, and experiences, and developed an area of expertise that quite frankly, is a critical need.  I spend my days solving riddles and changing lives.

And I'm good at it.  Really good at it.  All those experiences and education converged to form a professional--me--who knows kids, can talk to parents, and has a nice wealth of knowledge to do a job properly.
People I work with, who have been in the field longer, are asking my advice.
I thought you heard the pride and excitement in my voice.  I thought you were proud of me, too.  You seemed enthusiastic.

I've had parents hug me because I told them that there kid didn't have some intractable mental illness, when some other dufus had.  I give people hope.  I've had people consult with me from places around the state.

And I thought that you heard me.  I thought that you actually respected me for being good at something important, something I loved, something I was trained for, where I was respected.  What else is there?  You've live with me for how long now?

So how could you be so thick, so dense, as to say, "hey, here's this job that is nowhere near your interest, experience, or expertise.  It's tangentially related to your line of work, but it's higher pay, and it's where I I work, so you should apply for it"

Why on earth would you even think to do that, except that you don't really think that what I'm doing is serious, or important?  How could you not see that when you did this, you clearly were not taking me and my work seriously?

Well

You're pretty fucking insensitive.

You bet I'm pissed.

....