Welcome to my side of the fence. . .

Welcome to my side of the fence. . . Here you will
enjoy some good laughs, maybe some frustrations,
and hopefully (if I'm a good enough writer), a few tears.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Part 2.

Well, as of two days ago, I am no longer the oldest! There's another mom here and her kids are the exact same ages as Dominic and Nina. In fact her daughter is three weeks older than Nina and her son is five days younger than Dominic. Crazy. She loves to talk to me about my goats and gmo's and bio-engineered foods, and homesteading things. She is a nice addition to the group and although it's unfortunate she has to have to be here, too, I am glad in her company.

Today's Saturday, October 4th and I have been crying 90% of the day for two reasons. One is, we have a therapist that leads groups and scares the beejeebee's outta me. She's so by the book and intimidating, I don't understand how anyone could open up to her and be comfortable. She's always correcting me if she's at our meals. We have to keep our hands above the table but the gym is so cold, I naturally put my left hand in between my thighs to keep it warm, while I eat with my right hand. She harps on me sharply. There is no gentle reprimand. I feel like she would make a great drill instructor. Well, this morning we had our first processing group with her and I was afraid to speak and thankfully somebody else did. But then another girl began to speak about a negative reaction she was told about our program, but because it was said by another patient and that patient wasn't in the room, the therapist just spoke sharply and said you can't talk about this. You are not allowed to process this unless the other patient is here. I knew the behind the scene story because the girl speaking up is my roomie and I know what she was trying to process had nothing to do with the other patient, just the meaning of what was said and how she internalized it. It was not an attack on the patient. But the therapist wouldn't take the time to here that. I said nothing in that session for fear of her reprimands. During the same morning session, WHILE a patient was in mid sentence of expressing herself, the therapist said, time's up, session is over and got up to lead us out of the room. No closure, no I'm sorry, no let's continue this on next session. Just bam! It's over. This is also the same therapist that has, when time was up, stood up from chair and just left the room and called over her shoulder time's up. The entire room just sat there for a minute, dazed and perplexed, like what the hell just happened? WE are the ones usually racing to the door! Well, at 11:30 everyday I get to reheat a morning's cup of coffee because it's the only time of the day that meets the criteria of I can't drink a half hour before or after a meal. So they save my styrofoam cup in the office and they give it to me and I go walk it to the gym where we have our little kitchenette set up. I heat my coffee and I get to drink it. It's like the highlight of my day. Well today, Miss Meanie Therapist followed in after me a few seconds while I was at the microwave. She saw me and said, "You are required to be escorted by staff to heat up your coffee." I told her, but I have been doing it this way for four or five days now. She says "Yeah, yeah, I know, but you have to be escorted." I said fine and started crying and got the hell outta her sight. I feel so beat down by her. I felt so squashed.

So that's been 30% of today's crying.

The rest of today's crying has everything to do with my little sister. I was planning a baby shower for her today and I ended up coming here, so I handed the reins over to her best friend and my mom. I feel so shameful and guilty that I am here and not there. I want so much to have been there, providing her with an amazing memory. It's always been on my to-do list's in life: throw my sister her first baby shower. That's what big sister's are for. And I failed to accomplish that. And it's my fault. I talked to the doctor today and he suggested I call her before the shower and after the shower to still kinda include myself. Well, I called her before the shower and got her voice mail. I should have just hung up, but instead I opened my mouth and I blubbered that I love her and hope today is fun for her and that I was so sorry I couldn't be there. I don't quite know how she deciphered it between my sobs, but I got a voice mail back that was comforting and made me cry more.

Being here is exhausting and with everyday that passes, I feel more raw and less formidable. I want to lash out sometimes. But I don't. I just simmer.

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