The Ups and Downs

 I’ve said it a million times. Being a caregiver in people’s homes is a great job if the client is great, and it’s a crappy job if the client is bad. I’ve had an “up and down” go of it lately. I had a 99 year old who was suffering panic attacks. She passed away on June 1, luckily not while I was with her. GCboss texted me notifying me of her passing. I then sent condolences to her daughters, and they thanked me profusely. They were a great family, but I felt like I was peering into the future, because her panic attacks were so much like mine. I think I would actually like to live to be 99, I just don’t want panic attacks at that point. 

I’m with another person during the week with 10 hour shifts that is extremely easy. She needs someone to tend to her every couple hours or so and is very pleasant, and there is a lot of down time between tasks. I worked very well on my writing in my notebook one of those days, but another day with her, I was too focused on horrible experiences with therapists. So I just sat there with her and watched Alfred Hitchcock back to back. This lady likes very disturbing old shows. When I googled Alfred Hitchcock and told her some facts about him, she got on a very long roll of asking me about all these different old actors- what year did they die and how old were they when they died, she wanted to know for all of them. Wikipedia came in handy. One of them was married five times and had kids and stepkids from most of these marriages. She wanted to know how many kids he had total, so I had to add them up. She ended that conversation with, “He was busy.” 

The other client whom I’ve been working with since I started, had a pain level of ten yesterday and would yell if I barely touched her. I felt extremely bad and had to apologize twice. I told GCboss. Not much happened. She’s better today. I don’t know what went on with her, but I was stressed out the whole afternoon. 

I’m very down about this being my life. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m just not cut out for therapy. I think it’s unfair that I was talking about a past experience only to be told “Just don’t focus on the past!” In a shitty tone. For literally any other woman in this society, that would have been considered “processing your trauma” and other women would have been all buttered up and coddled. Not me!  I have to shut the fuck up apparently. 

I’m glad I’m off tomorrow. Tuesday,‘I’m working with the 10 hour Alfred Hitchcock fan. I’m going to psych myself up to work on my writing instead of watchin that with her during my down times. This lady’s also very appreciative of me. Sometimes they aren’t!  I am going to work on focusing on the positive. Yeah it sucks that I have to watch people die, but at least there’s downtime where I can jot things down, because writing is my true calling. 

Therapist Call Out

 I reached out to the therapist I saw Wednesday June 3 and the two preceding Wednesdays to ask why she berated me so harshly about trying to process abuse perpetrated by my aunt. When I did so, her tone changed from pleasant to nasty, and she lectured me to “stop living in the past!”

It was a one hour long session. The last 20 minutes of this session, I had kind of shut down so she started what she called a “clinical assessment” where she asked me basic questions. When I reached out to her yesterday asking her to clarify why she had gotten so ugly with me, she responded that no such conversation ever happened and that the entire session consisted only of the clinical assessment. Then she told me not to contact her again, because she knew that the assessment was only the last 20 minutes and that her shit parade over me was before that.

She is lying, and only I know that. Because of this, I will never again agree to process my past with a therapist unless the session is being screen recorded. I want to encourage others to always screen record your therapy sessions that are done over zoom, even if you trust your therapist. If any sort of verbal or emotional abuse happens, and you do not have proof, you cannot report it. You “can”, but it’s your word against theirs. They have the power to manipulate your diagnosis, because psychiatric diagnoses aren’t based on any physical, provable markers. If I was to report this interaction, all she needs to do is take a pen, scratch out my PTSD diagnosis and write another one which has delusional thinking as a symptom. Then tell the board, “See, she’s making it up.”  

And I’m not making it up. I will not be ready for therapy again for a long time, and if/when I am, the therapist HAS to be ok with being screen recorded. I have a hunch that 0% of them are ok with it, and that’s fine. That means I never have to go through another one of them and they lose my business. There is a lot of pressure out there to go to therapy, and any time in the past that I’ve said I didn’t want to go, I was pressured even more. 

Being told, “Just don’t focus on the past” is extremely dismissive and a thing people say when trying to get you to go to therapy, ironically. You’ll hear things like, “Don’t listen to people who just say forget about the past, process it in therapy!”  So this is a huge smack in the face. Never again. 

I have a screen recording app called “record it”. There are about 6 or 7 more of them in the app store, mostly free. I highly recommend screen recording these people. I should have this past Wednesday, and I will not ever go again unless I have permission to. 

Marjane Satrapi and Truth in Storytelling

 For a few weeks or a few months now, I’ve been planning to blog about this old interview of Marjane Satrapi talking (especially in the first 60 seconds of that video) about writing something based on your own experiences and it not being 100% true. 

I suppose now would be the time to mention it, because Marjane died yesterday at age 56. It doesn’t state the cause of death other than to say she “died of a broken heart” one year after the death of her husband. 

Americans would never put it that way, but she died in Paris, and dying of a broken heart is real. I can imagine being devastated over the loss of your spouse. Sometimes I’m lying with Kevin and I can’t imagine it. I could see myself being in the danger zone of dying from sadness, but refusing to. 

I liked Persepolis when I read it, and I liked what she had to say in the first 60 seconds of that video even more. When writing something based on your own experiences, like she did with Persepolis and like I’m doing with The Child Advocate, the story will not be written down EXACTLY how it happened as if the camera had been running. This is important for me to remember, since these therapists tried to sabotage me by asking me if I was sure that happened instead of xyz other thing. Liberties have to be taken, or else it doesn’t become a story. Details also have to be changed to protect anonymity of people we worked with. Memories get convoluted over time, not because we are shitty crazy people, but because we are human. 

Rest in Peace, MJ. Thanks for the masterpiece. 

Therapy Update

 About two weeks ago, I made a grave mistake. I decided to give up on therapy- you can read about it here. Then I decided to give it another try. I had three sessions with this last lady. The first two went pretty good!  Then in the third one, when talking about some abuse I suffered at the hands of my aunt, this new therapist started getting verbally nasty with me and reprimanded me to “just not focus on the past!”  She said in a very demeaning tone to only focus on the present, like Buddhists. 

Well, first of all I’m not Buddhist. But that’s not the issue. I was a sobbing mess for the rest of the afternoon. I feel like it’s considered unfathomable to tell anyone who suffered abuse to just not dwell on it and not to focus on the past. And with such a nasty tone, too. If she’d done this to anyone else, it would be considered wrong. 

In the middle of my verbal beating, she paused and asked, “Am I being too strict with you?”  So she knew what she was doing!  In the moment, I had to say, no you aren’t  obviously when you’re being verbally accosted like this, you can’t say “yes you’re being too strict.” You just can’t, because you’re being extremely reduced.  Many advocates of therapy would say I should have spoken up and said yes you are, so she could “know she needed to try a different approach” but how on earth was I supposed to feel strong enough to do that when I was being literally accused of choosing to live in the past, when trying to process abuse I suffered???

I really should have been screen recording the session, but I didn’t even think about it. She was pretty great for my first two sessions. If I had been screen recording the session, I would have proof of the way she just went off on me. Might I add, “the past” is something I thought you were supposed to “dwell on” and “process” in therapy. 

I am absolutely not going to seek out another therapist for real this time. Most, if not all of them, are toxic individuals, and the narrative about therapy that’s out there in society just isn’t reality for me. It puts me in a situation where whatever anxiety I felt before is made worse exponentially. I am not someone who goes and is able to get the help other women get. 

I just need to accept that there is no help for me and move forward with my purpose. Telling someone like me to “just find a new therapist” is toxic and minimizing. I did “find a new therapist” when I made three consecutive weekly appointments with this lady. And she was great at first and then turned on me in the third session. It’s devastating when this happens. 

20 YearsAgo Today

June 4, 2006 was my first day working as a Discovery Guide at the children’s museum. I worked there for several years. I left in order to finish my last semester and summer sessions to get my college degree. I crammed classes into those sessions that wouldn’t have been possible with a job. It was single-handedly the biggest mistake of my life. I threw my life away for someone else’s dream. 

Working there fulfilled the career goal I set at about age 21 to help children, and it was the only thing I ever did that fulfilled that and wasn’t sad. It was joyous. Thousands of kids from the community could come in and learn on their own terms. I facilitated all of that, and if only I could have a dollar for all of the “aha moments” I saw in their faces. 

Four months later, I found out i was pregnant, and two and a half years after that, I started going through a divorce from Anna’s father. The museum and the people there (and also Anna’s daycare at the time) were such a wonderful support system. I never brought Anna to work while I was on the clock, but I brought her there on my off times to play, because I had a free membership. She was obsessed with that place!  When I was about 8 months pregnant, the head of the cleaning ladies there told me, “Whatever you hate the smell of when you’re pregnant, the baby will love .” I said, “I hate the smell of this museum!” And lo and behold she was correct. 

I went through my phone and added whatever pics I could find from there. Some are during busman’s holidays with Anna when I was not working, and some are from different October's, when we were all required to wear costumes for two weeks preceding Halloween. 

Anna in front of a “carry a kid” 

Pillar on the outside- it’s a spoof on the “caryatids” in Ancient Greece. 

This meme reminded me of field trip days. It really was like this n

Me dressed as a chicken for Halloween.  

Me as an ice cream sundae for Halloween. 

Anna with my coworker, dressed as Snow White for Halloween. 

Anna in one of the changing exhibits that I really don’t remember the details of. 

Anna in the eco station. 

Anna with a doll. 

My baby shower in May, 2007. 

Me and Anna in the two and under play exhibit called “totspot”. 

Anna doing a special Christmas activity. I don’t know why she looks perturbed at the presenter! 

 

False Memories

 It took my parents about five days to get from Chicago to Phoenix, Arizona when we moved there in 1993. After celebrating my mom’s birthday in an Oklahoma City motel with pizza and cake, we went through Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle through Amarillo. I fell asleep in the back seat with headphones on, set to a radio station I found by sliding the dial in Amarillo. The static that played after the radio station faded as we got out of Amarillo helped me sleep. I slept for a very long time. When I woke up, I looked out the window and there was beautiful desert landscape with cacti and red sand. For some reason, I have a memory of Señorita by Puff Daddy playing on my headphones as I saw the desert for the first time. 

But there are problems with this memory. Señorita by Puff Daddy didn’t come out until 1997. It must have been another song, or still static. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen the Sonoran desert landscape, either. My parents and I flew there in 1992 to check it out and see if we wanted to move there. This May have been the first time I was seeing it while driving through a rural area. I don’t know why I think of seeing the desert for the first time after a long car nap every time I hear that song. That song always brought that memory up. 

I do not know what a good balance is when it comes to false memories. Am I a liar because I have a false memory?  Does this mean I’m a bad person for “making it up”?  Didn’t make it up?  Not consciously, I didn’t. Is this an example of a false memory caused by trauma?  Did moving from Chicago to Arizona at age 14 count as a traumatic experience?  Not according to ACES. ACES doesn’t include moving away. However, when my own daughter was 14, I was on again off again with a man I knew in high school, who lived in Arizona. What if I had ended up with him and said, “We’re moving to Arizona, say goodbye to your friends?”  I would have been considered a bad parent. But, I was divorced from Anna’s dad, my parents weren’t. Does that make me immune from feeling trauma from a big change like that at age 14?  Even though I was in agreement with my parents, I still felt sadness when we left and some shell shock at key cultural differences between Chicago and Phoenix. That was the first year I really started feeling heat sensitivity that I still suffer from to this day. I really wonder the validity of my false memory. Why do I have it, and is it ok if I have it?  Was moving traumatic for me and I don’t realize it?  If yes, then how does that reconcile with the fact that my parents did sit me down at age 13 and asked my opinion of moving there and I said I was cool with it?  How does that reconcile with the fact that the change in my mom’s mental health after we moved had a positive affect on me?  The moving itself was still jarring. It’s a mystery I guess 

Daily Life

 Wednesday, I went to 25 cent day at Family Thrift outlet in west Houston. I spent $18 on 72 items to cut up for quilts. I love cutting it all up. It’s semi-therapeutic. I got a lot of denim button down shirts to save the buttons from too. I also want to do some button art. Since most of the buttons are white, the thing that would make the most sense to make would be a snowflake or a snowman. We’ll see. For now, I just like cutting up my 72 items. Cutting up 25 cent clothing just makes me happy. If that sounds weird, I’m sorry. I also love sewing and have been watching some ladies on YouTube who are and quilters. Links later. 

My weight this morning was 194.3, and I feel great. A couple months ago, the scale said 215, so this is more than a 20 pound loss. Phentermine works great at making you just not think about food at all. I have not been to the gym in a couple weeks though, and need to get back on it. I got out some old t-shirts that were too tight a couple months ago, but fit great now. Two of them are New Mexico shirts with the very cute state flag, one shirt from the Galveston Seawall, and one that says New Orleans. A week or so ago, it seemed to me that I was just losing boobs and that’s it, but that’s not what it is. I’m losing weight in my abdomen, and that’s making my boobs sag more. I’m getting old I guess. 

Today is the 33 year anniversary of my parents and I leaving Chicago, where we were all born. Tomorrow is my mom’s 81st birthday. We never do things for birthdays that end in 1- they just aren’t exciting. When we left Chicago for Arizona on May 29th, 1993, we had gotten to Oklahoma City by the end of the next day. We had my mom’s 48th birthday in a motel there with pizza. We had a car with an attached U-haul and a 10 year old dog that would live about 2 and a half more years. We went to bed that night and at 3:00 am, the dog was barking at people in the motel hallway and we left because my father didn’t tell the desk we had a dog. 

Our move to Arizona was very good for my mom at the time. They were in a big friend group with the Chicago GOYA (Greek Orthodox Youth of America), which included some of my aunts and uncles on both sides. This whole friend group had a big competition with each other to see who could move from Chicago to Arizona. I often wonder what caused that challenge among all these people.  Nowadays, it’s considered bad parenting to move a kid to a new state just because, but it wasn’t considered bad parenting back then. My mom kind of didn’t want to go at first, but once we got there, she perked up for at least a few years. My mom had just turned 48, and my dad was 51. I’m turning 48 in about 7 weeks, so it’s nice to know that if my mom could have a good start at this age then I can too. I’m not saying I would move anywhere. Kevin and I want to live in his parent’s guest house as long as possible because the rent is so cheap. But I can renew my mind and set new goals. 

I’ve been very down due to leaving my job at the inventory service and getting into caregivers again. With my husband still working there, I have to hear about it every day. I can’t not ask him how his day was. 

Right now, I’m taking care of a 99 year old on hospice. Her kids are caring for her, and they need a break. She often makes me think of an old character from the 80’s that just wouldn’t die and was indestructible. I think it was Svengoolie but can’t remember. I have perpetual anxiety that she’ll die when I’m with her, but it’s honestly not that big of a deal of that happens. After all, it’s been long expected and she is 99. If I live as long as her, then my halfway point won’t even be for about a year and a half. That’s encouraging. (Kind of), but not really because this 99 year old tends to have panic attacks. It’s a little daunting to think about still having panic attacks 50 years from now when I am confined to a recliner and dependent on others for everything. When she has one, I just take her hand and put the other hand under that arm and let her stand up while I sort of support her as she stands there. This standing eases her anxiety for a minute or two. 

The other person I’m caring for is the one who’s granddaughter witnesses a classmate being killed. This woman also lost her husband four months ago and sometimes cries to me about it. It’s hard for me to bear other people’s trauma like I am, but I try to deal with it by listening and letting it pass.

This Monday and Tuesday I have 12 hour shifts with another client that just wants you to go in another room and she “hollers” if she need you. So I’m setting the intention to bring my notebooks and jot notes all day. 

I’m just praying for more easy days. As I write more and more about the jobs I’ve had and the people I’ve helped at both ends of the lifespan, it’s hitting me just how much I’ve dealt with. The fact that the therapist I saw didn’t believe a couple key elements of my story gives me hellish imposter syndrome, but I’m working through it. Acknowledging that trauma can alter your memories is tough when you’ve been writing a book and consciously trying to make up fake scenarios that are “based on” real ones to protect the identity of the person you worked with. How much of my book will be BS?  Essentially, I don’t think it matters, because the message will stay the same. There’s a very complicated balance between changing things up to protect privacy, knowing you might remember things wrong due to trauma, and having a condescending bitch for a therapist that was like “Are you sure it was that and not this?” Ugh seriously fuck that lady, I’m so glad im not going back.