The beginning of a hot summer day

     I awoke at 5:30 am, unable to sleep any longer.  What does today bring for me?  I placed a cup of yesterday's coffee in the microwave and went outside to smoke.  The fox scurried from my yard towards the woods and a deer reluctantly followed.  I walked around, looking at the plants and weeds I have growing, and thought of all the things I have to do.  I began watering the potted plants and set up the sprinkler for the ones in the ground and apparently the weeds surrounding them.  After a month, I see the deer discovered my sunflowers and on the some leaves were missing while others the entire tops were bitten off.  Pests!  The lawn needs mowed.
     The laundry has piled up, which meant for last week, pulling things from the back of the closet for work.  Clean laundry is piled up on the table by the washer and dryer.  Wrinkled now and only in the case of towels and underwear, needing only folding.  Sigh.  I vacuumed yesterday, but as is usually the case, the dogs seem to purposefully shed on the newly hair-free carpet.  I hate this carpet.  I would like to have wood floors.
     I turned on the tv and searched for noninfomercials that may be pleasing to distract me from my to do list or at least allow me to wake a bit before doing something.  I found background noise and went to my facebook.  Renee loves summer.  Hmm... and it is so hot I contemplate a move to Canada or Alaska.  This summer has been a series of plagues and tribulations.  The bees and wasps actually preceded the mosquitos which came in thick following the deluge of rain this summer.  Shortly after the mosquitos, the dragonflies hatched in abundance to eat them.  Poison ivy sprouted early as did my aversion and avoidance of it.  Two weeks ago, (or was it three?) frogs the size of flies jumped to avoid my every step down the driveway.  Yesterday a bat had attached itself to the front of the house.  What next Minnesota?
     I notice guilt in the form of medical bills piling up on the table.  They hide nicely the spot I spilled fingernail polish remover on about a month ago.  Collectors are calling, despite my payments to each of the medical institutions as I am able.  The doctor said I need to stop smoking.  This panics me.  I don't know why.  I am trying to ready myself, but designating a "quit day" is hard for me.  When I tell people, I get advice anywhere from what candy they used to acupuncture.  "Doc Jones" wrote me a prescription for the patch.  No one can tell me how to avoid the emotional crash I experienced the last time I tried.
     Doc Jones is an interesting creature to say the least.  He is a psychiatrist with a plethora of keys on a chain for each institution her serves.  He has an office across from mine though he is scheduled only one day a week there.  He has a fainting couch with blankets in there and an old car or truck door on his wall.  His inherited family doctor bag on the top shelf of his bookcase indicates the title "doc" has also been handed down for generations.  He sports a pony tail in his salt and pepper hair, giving a nod to the early '70s I suppose.  He is always running at 100 mph.  In addition to his psychiatry practice, he has an organic farm.  Who knows where he gets all of the energy to do what he does.  He still dictates his notes, a privilege of his title, I am sure, for the rest of us type our own.  At times he is short and curt, others he is jovial and sarcastic.    
     Yesterday I went to the Celtic Festival put on by Doc Jones at St. Matthias farm here in Brainerd.  It was sparsely populated with what appeared to be some of the more "different" people of the area - me included.  The smell of the peat burning lingered in my nose this morning.  The beer was cheap, but not quite cold enough to have two.  The music was good and two used books relating to Ireland joined my stacks of bills on the coffee table.  There.  Now I don't have to dust.
     After I poured my second cup of yesterday's coffee, I realized I needed to brew another pot for today.  Grumble.  I was not that ambitious.  Fatal loop.  Need liquid ambition to provide ambition for making another pot.  Hmm... I guess I will have to feign ambition for now.
     I know I need to go to work to get my stuff to work at home.  I just don't feel like showering but should in case I run into someone else just as behind in their work as I am.  I have several diagnostic assessments to do.  I get to label people so the insurance companies will pay for their therapy.  My new supervisor insists I write novels for each one as well as their treatment plans.  We get paid for one and one-half hours per DA and nothing for the treatment plan.  Even the most seasoned of therapists spends at least two hours on each.  I have been told there are people with jobs that actually don't spend their days off working.  That sounds wonderful.  I have also been told those hours accruing on my paycheck can be used for vacation.  That's an interesting notion but has a negative impact on productivity.
     I suppose I better get off my couch and be productive today.  I know I can't get caught up, but can pursue being less behind in my work at home and in my profession.  Do I really want to go to law school?  Still thinking about it.  I realize the sooner I start the sooner I will be done.  Right now I need more of a social life, or time occupiers, but can I handle that stress?  Perhaps I will ponder studying for the LSAT and see if it interests me.  They say it isn't what you know, but how you think that will get you through.  Still pondering as I pace through my rut...
 

And the Walls...

Last week I reached my breaking point.  I have been working week after week 6 or 7 days a week.  Easter weekend killed me.  I did not have time to work.  I got behind.  Then a week full of clients in crisis.  Parents who are so focused on themselves they ignore the strangulation marks on the neck of their child who attempted to end it all.

Therapy is tough work.  Tougher yet is the fact that they are turning a therapeutic model of practice into a business, almost production model of practice.  I am scheduled for 4-10 hour days.  Next week I have one free unscheduled hour.  Likely to be filled by a client in crisis.  If all clients show and don't cancel, I will likely meet productivity at the end of the week for the entire month.  For us, it is 23 hours of face time with clients.  It doesn't seem like much when you consider a 40-hour week, but we are required 8 hours a month of meetings with our supervisor and then there is the advanced clinical consult where we review specific troublesome cases with our colleagues.  Between face time with clients and meetings, we are making phone calls, meeting with other professionals, by phone or in person, writing lengthy diagnostic assessments, writing progress notes, and - if we are good - researching evidence based interventions for various diagnoses.

Insurance companies only pay certain amounts.  We get 1.5 hours for a diagnostic assessment which, when you consider the one hour of face time, leaves us .5 hours to review information retrieved from other agencies, enter PHQs, SDQs and CASII's and other measurements to further define our diagnoses, and write the assessment.  Even more fun is that I am on my 3rd clinical supervisor.  Each clinical supervisor has their own method of writing DA's.  Some want every detail and others want bare-boned diagnostic assessments.  Regardless, our overseer, the Department of Health and Human Services, has requirements that need to be met.  Basically with our assessments we need to establish a case for why our clients require therapy.  Suicidal clients make this easy for us.  Clients who wish to improve their marriage or otherwise work on their relationships make this more difficult.  We have to establish MEDICAL NECESSITY.  Sometimes this is difficult.

Last week I had 5 intakes.  Intakes usually require diagnostic assessments.  Even the best and most seasoned therapists admit that diagnostic assessments take them at least 2 hours outside of face time with clients.  I also had phone calls with clients' parents, school counselors, referrals to additional services, difficulties with the software we use for our documentation, meetings with guardian ad litems, reviewing additional court documentation, crises that require additional attention beyond the session and informal consult with fellow therapists on our clients.  My official work day ends at 7.  Some of my cases are so sick and twisted that I am affected by them.  Since I am the last therapist in the office I don't have anyone to debrief with.  Debriefing is so important when you are dealing with the mentally ill.  It helps so you don't take it on personally.  I don't usually have this opportunity since my day ends later than the other therapists.

So, there is a great deal of stress.  Then, our CEO, or whatever his title is, tells us that we have to meet productivity.  One of the clinical directors sent out an e-mail earlier this year stating if we don't meet productivity, we can lose our FTE (full-time employee) status.  This means we would be reduced to 32 hour status, lower pay and less availability for our clients.  I don't think we have any therapists that can possibly have openings in their schedule.  Where the problem lies is in meetings, trainings and cancellations.  We have no control over clients canceling.  This affects our productivity.  Next week I will be in the cities for 4 days for DBT training.  This training is to fill a need the agency has for people to work with clients with Borderline Personality Disorder.  These clients are referred to DBT groups facilitated by professionals and require a DBT therapist.  We have had therapists leave or quit doing DBT because of the intensity and extra (non-productivity) time required.  So, I lose 4 days of productivity.

In order to keep up on my paperwork, I now work Fridays, Saturdays and sometimes (like today) Sundays.  Since I am salary, I don't get reimbursed for this.  My pay is very low for a therapist since I am not independently licensed.  I need to supplement my income somehow.  This will probably involve working nights and weekend beyond my normal night and weekend work.  I am looking for something within my field to do this, since I think if my clients see me working at McDonald's it may affect my credibility.

Truth is, the bills are not getting paid.  I am getting notices from various medical providers threatening to turn the bills over to collections.  I did my taxes this weekend hoping I would get a substantial refund and this was not the case.

In summary, I am stressed out!  I am getting burned out at my job and now know I need to get another job to make ends meet.  I get angry with people who have taken money from me and still sleep at night!  A couple of weeks ago I learned that Brian closed my line of credit and overdraft protection account.  I was the primary account holder and was told he could not do this.  I will be changing banks soon, as soon as I have time!  When I work 8-7 M-Thursday and Fridays as well, there is not much time to call my creditors or stop in and close my accounts.  The line of credit could have helped with medical bills.  And then I get angry with the residual people who "don't have a problem with him" and continue to have their profile photos adorning his facebook page as friends and "like" his relationship with his new girlfriend living in the home I raised my children in.

Also stressful is that after working this week Monday -Thursday 8-7, I have to go down to MPLS for another procedure to burn my esophagus.  I am more anxious about this after having the last procedure and being unable to eat for 2 weeks.  I will stay with Renee overnight and head back to Brainerd on Saturday to pack for my 4-day training.

One big factor determining the success of our clients is their support system.  When I apply that to myself, I realize that I may have made a big mistake in moving to Brainerd.  I moved away from friends and family that were my support system.  I have a good number of friends here, but they are in different places in their lives, busy with families, children, schools, etc.

There is also the adage that you can't go back.  In several ways I found the truth of this statement when I went back for Easter.  The best part was that Mom remembered me.  The drive down is long and tiring.  It is about 7 and 1/2 hours to get to Sioux City.  I have difficulty with my "excessive daytime sleepiness" a.k.a narcolepsy and fight falling asleep anyway, but driving makes this worse.  I just can't do it.  When staying at Becky's I realized that I likely placed a wedge between myself and her family over Thanksgiving when I expressed my concern about the amount of stress and work she does with little help from Jeff or Hannah.  Jeff was either sleeping or gone the entire time I was there.  I get it.  Shut up Ande.  Don't worry about Becky and the burden she has that will take its toll on her.  I admire her, but I also realize her family has it easy by not helping her with even household tasks.  And I know she can't keep this up without it affecting her.  I also was mistaken in thinking my return might be special enough to prompt a visit by my brother and his family.  I could not take Monday off so I could be with my family on Easter Sunday because I have to meet productivity this month even with 4 days of training!  It is one day of driving each way. I have Fridays off, but then I don't get paperwork done and fall further behind if I am gone.

I Skype with Dad every Sunday.  This will keep us close.  Becky and I talk on the phone and that will keep us close.  I know I am the one who moved away and have accepted it is likely no one will visit me here.  I feel bad that I cannot return often.  Thanksgiving will likely be my next visit if I come then.  It is really dangerous for me to drive that long alone.   Maybe if I find someone willing to switch off driving with me I will be back more.  Right now, I have to say it is simply not likely I will return for some time.  It sounds like Mom is fading again, and perhaps it is best that I remember the her I saw on Easter.  I am so happy she held out that long.

In summation, I feel I am falling apart and running low on outlets and supports.  I realize this, too, shall pass.  I just wish it would hurry in its passing.

A Disturbing Dream

So I had a dream.  Not the MLK type.  I just wonder what Freud would have said about this one:

I was at my house in Sioux Falls collecting the remainder of my belongings.  Brian and his new girlfriend were allowing me to have whatever they did not want of my stuff - which is what happened in reality.  I was going through everything and found what was left was broken.  I was sifting tearfully through my broken and destroyed belongings and getting angry.  As I sorted, I kept seeing this large rack of cookie sheets full of pretty little cupcakes that Brian's girlfriend and her daughter were planning on eating.Brian's girlfriend would occasionally shout when I found something intact that I could not have it.  I looked around and saw salt and pepper shakers.  I waited until no one was watching me and sprinkled salt on the pretty little cupcakes.

Strange.

Pain

I have debated about writing about this for quite awhile.  I need to get it out and let it go.

In the summer of 2008 Brian and I were having problems.  He was seeing a woman from work and denied it - they were just friends.  Women are usually right when they get the sense their significant other is seeing someone else.  I admit, I invaded his privacy and went on his phone where I found x-rated pictures he had sent to her.  Strange friendship.  We took a trip to Bemidji shortly after this dispute.  While in Bemidji, Brian got drunk.  He verbally attacked me and my children.  It was verbal, but I felt it physically all over my body.  I cried so hard I puked.  My world, as shaky as it was anyway, was dark and murky.  I felt like escaping my body, but could not escape it or my thoughts.  No one had ever attacked me so vehemently.  I left him in bed the next morning as I packed all of my stuff to leave.  Despite my tip-toeing around, he awoke.  He begged me not to leave him there.  At that point I did not care how he got back.  Somehow, I don't know quite what he said, he talked me into not leaving him there.

Brian stopped seeing this woman.  Perhaps it was because his boss fired her - likely because his boss liked me and was upset about this relationship.  We went back to working on us.

One of the things that we both enjoyed was the Minnesota northwoods.  Particularly around the Ely area.  Brian had been saying that he wanted to move up there, and had interviewed up there for a job eventually.  I was concerned about family, especially his parents, since their health was declining.  Brian was set on leaving.  We would go back and forth about it and he said that I would never move.  He had interviewed for a job and was in contact with other job possibilities, but I had not.  He did not think I was committed to moving there.  I wanted to wait until Ben was out of school and in college at the very earliest and thought it would be better for him to wait until Jessica was graduated.  In early 2009 I had two acceptances to grad school.  One was for Vermillion for a PsyEd degree and the other was for the Social Work program in Duluth.  Brian urged me to go to Duluth.

I left for Duluth the day after we moved Ben to Vermillion to begin his college experience.  Brain said he would be up to see me often because he loves the area.  This did not prove to be the case.  In fact, shortly after I left for Duluth he began another relationship with another woman.  I did not find this out until Thanksgiving, I believe.  Jess and Brian got in a fight and she told me about it to hurt him.  To make matters worse, Brian completely dismantled Ben's bed and moved everything of his into my office.  Great!  Now Ben had nowhere to stay when he came back for college.  I was heartbroken.  Ben said he would just stay with his dad.  Ouch.  I love my kids and looked forward to seeing my kids when I was back.

By the time I was back for Christmas, the woman Brian was seeing broke up with him.  I was still angry with him and he expected me to be nice to him because he was devastated by his recent break up.  Another new development that began was the blame for everything Jess did.  I began hearing from both Brian and Jess that she was good before I came back, but was having poor behaviors when I returned.  Each time this occurred, I eventually found out she was acting out all along while I was gone.  I was a convenient scapegoat.  This was crazy-making.

By Thanksgiving 2010, Brian was back to attempting to get me back.  He bought me a new phone and stated he wanted to move up with me when I graduated and got a job.  He was ready to leave Sioux Falls and get away from Jess and his ex and the insanity that seemed to be their creation.  I hadn't decided if I would agree to that.  My choice was once again beside the point.  By Christmas 2010, Brian was seeing another woman.  He had invited me to a party of one of his work friends that I knew.  When it came time for the party, Brian uninvited me.  He had been acting odd all the time I was back.  He always took his phone with him.  He was texting frequently while I was there.  He came home late from work and was emotionally distant.

I was depressed.  The reason I attended school in Duluth was gone.  I had been trained in Minnesota child welfare laws and programs.  Much of this information would have to be replaced if I moved back. I was depressed.  I couldn't bring myself to do my homework in the last semester.  I was more depressed than I had ever been.  I began therapy and after working with my therapist for a few months, was finally able to get a semester's worth of homework done in 2 weeks.  I guess I would graduate after all.

Brian and I had put the house on the market.  The fair market value was $109,900.  The market was slow in Sioux Falls.  Brian and I discussed a settlement if the house did not sell.  There was $59,000 in equity on the house, with no liens on it.  Brian had only been making payments on the house since I left for Duluth.  Before that I made the house payment, utility payments, groceries, etc.  He had child support and car payments for his vehicle.  Basically, the equity was all mine.  Brian agreed to take out a loan to pay the me the equity if the house did not sell by May 1st.  By May 1st, the house did not sell.  Brian decided not to take a loan out.  He told me to rent a place.  I looked at rentals, but could not find one that would take 3 dogs.  It looked like I had to buy.  We argued on the phone, over and over.  Finally he said he could pay me $18,000 until the house sold.  But I would have to sign a quit claim deed, relinquishing my ownership on the house.  I told him I would do so if he promised he would pay the rest when the house was sold.  He agreed.

He took the house off the market in the fall.  By that time, his girlfriend and her daughter were living there.  He told me he would shut off my phone.  He said I could not go into the house for the rest of my stuff.  I had to tell him what I wanted.  I fought him on that and asked for my money since now they were all living there and the house was no longer on the market.  He refused.  He said he would never pay me the rest of my money.  So, he bought the house I raised my children in, built years of equity in, and remodeled over the years for $68,000 when it was valued at $109,900.  He somehow doesn't have a problem with that.  On top of that, I requested some of my stuff back.  One of the things was a wicker chair that my sons' grandmother gave me.  I had painted it, and reupholstered the chair.  It had been out on the porch.  When I asked for it back, he told me I could not have it because his girlfriend wanted it.  That made me mad.  This had nothing to do with her.  He had no right.  He also said he did not have my missing sapphire ring that had been in the jewelry box on the dresser.  I am assuming his girlfriend wanted that as well.

Okay, let us summarize:  Brian repeatedly cheated on me and made my life hell.  I would still be living around my family if it weren't for my proving to him I was committed to living with him by attending grad school in Minnesota.  I lost opportunities to see Ben when he was back from school, because he no longer had a place to stay with us.  I was cheated out of $41,000 from my house.  I gave 11 years of my life to this man.  I can't have any of my stuff that his girlfriend wants.  (I still have stuff over there).  

If anyone did anything like this to my family members, I would be livid.  Oddly enough, I hear from some of my family members, "I don't have a problem with him".  Really?  You don't consider anything he did to me or my children a problem?  Is that how we support each other?!  Recently I noticed that some of my family have "liked" his engagement on facebook.  If this all had happened to anyone in my family, I really would either have a lot to say, or nothing at all.  I certainly wouldn't consider myself his "friend" on facebook or anywhere else where obviously this would hurt.  But maybe you do have a problem with me?!

This was hard to write.  I got mad when I first heard that there was "no problem with him" and again when I saw the responses on facebook and decided not to say anything about it for 24 hours.  I have had to wait many more 24 hours.  Apparently my hurt is not going away anytime soon.

Those Mother-Daughter Lost Things

I used to have dreams of doing things with Mom.  Some were discussed.  Some were going to be surprises I was hoping I could afford later.

Mom and I discussed going to Omaha and wandering around the old marketplace area - can't thing of what it is called now.  We were going to go down for a day.  She would show me haunts and show me around the areas she loved down there.  We would eat authentic Italian food and window shop.  These were the things she loved to do.  We both love little shops and history.

I had hoped to surprise her sometime later with a mother-daughter trip to Ireland.  She always wanted to go.  I had hoped to be able to save up for and afford this.  I looked forward to doing this with my mom.  We both had similar tastes in things to do.

When I last saw my mom, I was leaving her in the nursing home.  I never expected this to happen so fast if she was to get Alzheimer's.  I thought we had time.  Turning to leave that last day I saw my mom, her natural brown hair contrasting the white and gray hair of the other nursing home residents.  She was in a wheelchair, totally absorbed in the activity apron they had tied around her.  She is reduced to basically an infant, with the exception of very few short comprehensible sentences.  She switches quickly from lucid (rare) to oblivious.

Brian's dad died last week.  Despite my grief, I am appreciate the finality of this loss.  It is over.  There is closure.  With Mom, we are grieving her loss piece by piece.  She is mostly gone, but we continue to visit her and yearn for the parts of her we used to know.  I don't know if she is suffering like we are.  It doesn't seem so.  I think we suffer for her and for us.  All of us.  We are grieving her loss and ours.  I'm guessing other family members think the same unthinkable thoughts I do about the speed of her demise at this point.  We don't want to lose Mom, but we mostly have.  There will be no mother-daughter trips.

The Clients

The caseload is growing.  So far, I haven't lost any clients.  I guess that's good.  This is my second week.

It is difficult.  The wanting to hug some clients for all they are going through.  This includes parents as well.  Facing the suicide of a parent seems to be a common stressor as is outside placement.  Regardless of what parents do, the children will always love them.  They seem to canonize the absent parent regardless of what happened.

Homelessness is the fate of another client.  Mom is so disappointed in herself for letting her daughter down.  They are so close, though.  They have no table to have a nightly meal on and discuss the day's events.  They go to bed in partitioned rooms in a shelter.  The daughter is afraid and sad.  She is picking up her mother's angst and depression.  I so want to let them stay in my house in that empty bed that is soft, allow them to have their own space and privacy.  I can't though.  Boundaries, you know...

Untimely death of a parent is a shocker for many families.  Moms aren't supposed to die that young.  Some dads don't know the first thing about being a mother.  She was going to stay home with the children until they were older.  Plans change.  Everything comes to a screeching halt then suddenly everything flies in the air and settles where it was never before.  There is no guidebook.  No contingency plan.  Dads working long hours to support the family are suddenly faced with these huge eyes looking out of these tiny bodies pleading for the answers that dad wished he had himself.  How do we communicate?  Moms are so often the glue of the family.  They are dispatch of family relationships.

Once again, I am also dealing with sexual abuse.  It is such an epidemic - or perhaps it was always there.  Who knows?  I know that it messes kids up in ways they will never understand.  The squeaky wheels are the ones we see.  There are those kids who don't squeak so much that I have the most concern for.  They are sworn to secrecy to protect most likely their parents in one way or another.

They say some odd things as well.  They experience life sometimes in more mature ways than their mentally ill parents.  Most of all, I see through the eyes of these children both pain and fear.  As Pat Benetar says, "Hell is for children".  Indeed it seems to be so.

The Office

It was difficult after graduating, paying $60,000 for 3 letters behind my name to be relegated to a cubicle again and work basically out of my car.  I drove to my clients' homes and met them there in their environment.  However, it was good to see their surroundings: the things on the walls, tables and cabinets that were symbols of what was important to them.  The grieving family had numerous shrines dedicated to their son who died too soon for them to accept.  The abusive father with the knife collection lived in a house reeking of urine with the bible next to a notebook on the couch.  The sweet little girl lived in the basement with a lock on the door leading down to it.  The single mom confined to a welfare slum, making the best of it with her children's photos and drawings posted all over the walls.  I built relationships there.

Now I have an office.  I realize that I am elated not to have to drive miles and miles to see my clients.  Since I rolled my car at age 16, driving has not been my favorite duty.  I am doing child, adolescent and family therapy in one of the largest offices in the building.  It came furnished with a black leather couch, a white '80's (halogen?) lamp, a discount store cabinet filled with toys and papers, and a laminate wood and metal desk.  Oh, let's not forget the gray carpet with a large dark stain on it.  I immediately logged on to Amazon and ordered artwork and a large carpet to warm up the place.  I really can't afford it on my sparse salary, however, I need to ensure my clients are comfortable and have more than white walls to look at.  For now, I have a bulletin board with photos of my dogs.   Children love animals.

I am looking forward to decorating with pieces of art from second-hand stores for now.  I will have pens, pencils, crayons, paints, craft kits and all sorts of stuff that I can work on with the kids.  I have requested additional chairs for my office.  I will not sit in an office chair.  That implies power and expertise, and my clients are the experts of their lives - not me.  I can't wait until it is done!  I also have established good relationships with the facilities people who stated they will paint my office for me.  Oh, joy!

Fevered Hilarity

I almost called in sick to my doctor's appointment yesterday.  I felt faint and like I was cruising on some form of psychedelic drug.  I was running a fever.  I am on yet my 3rd antibiotic for cough and sinus symptoms.  Yesterday was by far the worst.  Yet I could not sleep.  I got back on Netflix and watched The Man Who Cried.  It had Christina Ricci and Johnny Depp in it.  I watched another movie or two after that. I finally fell asleep in the middle of Moll Flanders and woke up out of a strange dream.  Johnny Depp and I had announced to all our facebook friends that we were expecting our love child.  I laughed so hard when I woke up that I landed in a full coughing fit - followed of course, by a new facebook entry.  

The identified client

Sometimes, actually quite often, parents bring their children in for us to "fix".  This is the problem in their family.  This child is causing problems.  In doing in-home therapy I get to see the dynamics.  Especially when their guards are down.  I see the "problem child" getting angry as a reaction to something perfectly understandable.  I see the parents expecting this child to act better than the other children who are far less responsible or vulnerable.  I see the mother refusing to show her daughter respect first, to model the respect she demands from her.  I see the father being annoyed when the "problem child" is talking to him, but perfectly calm when the others talk to him.  I see the defeat in these "problem children"'s eyes.

I see why they are cutting.  And, no, mother of problem child, it isn't to make you mad.  I wish I could shake the parents until their eyes open!  But the parents are committed to their views.  They are right.  Problem child is wrong.  They are good - problem child is bad.  These problem children are stuck.  The good things they do are never good enough.  If they compare their treatment by their parents to the treatment of their siblings, the parents tell them to mind their own business.  Same if they tell on the others. Yet when the tables are turned, the parents are open to the tattling of the siblings on the problem child - because it is congruent to their committed beliefs.

Where can these children go?  What can they do?  I see how hard they try and want to tell them to put blinders on and tread forward towards the good in them.  And I see a lot of good in them.  But I know it won't matter.  Even a therapist cannot help.  The parent is that committed.

Surreally happening?

The last month and one-half was a whirlwind.

After a bout with severe depression where I was behind in all my classes, I got caught up. It was painstaking work to get it all done. I honestly didn't think I could do it. The paralysis of the depression left me so I just couldn't do it. I don't know why.

I was hired at Northern Pines on the condition that I have my masters. I had to get it done. Then was graduation, followed the day after with my orals. I passed. Then I had to find a house. The financial bits had to be gathered. Research and providing proof. Writing a letter to the underwriters had to be done, I found that Brian had maxed out my line of credit, that he said was his. He was angry that he suddenly had to pay that off, and angry that he had to give me any money at all. I had to (just remembered I forgot to pay rent for June at the old place) explain things for my credit report and provide all sorts of proof that I was worth approval. In the middle of all of this, I had to go back to my internship, meet with my supervisor to explain the database I provided for her, run to Little Falls for orientation, get boxes, etc. I have felt like I have had to force myself to do all of this. Push, push, push. I started my job, continued gathering financial evidence, found homeowners insurance, contacted the movers, commute back and forth to Duluth. Pack... I have had so many accomplishments that I haven't celebrated. Celebrating this stuff is normal - what everyone else is doing, yet I have had no time.

Tuesday, I got lost on my way to an in-home session. I knew I had enough gas to make it there, but I forgot to allow for getting lost. It was off the beaten path and about 30 miles from the office. It was a beautiful drive until I got lost. I met with the family, then drove to the gas station that I passed on the way only to discover that the pumps were empty. "Sorry for the inconvenience," the sign said. I passed gas station after gas station closed due to the economic conditions of the area. It got to 98 degrees that day, and I had the air conditioner off to save gas. When I got gas, I was walking through the station and everyone was walking slow. It is a cultural thing. A little thing. Then I realized that everything was so unfamiliar! I don't know this area. By the time I got to Brainerd, I was having a full-blown panic attack.

"WHAT IN THE HELL AM I DOING?! WHAT HAVE I DONE!?!" I am in a strange city, buying a home, starting a new job with no family around... HO-LY SHIT! I pulled over to the side of the road. I tried to call my friend, Kim, but she didn't answer. I took a deep breath, cried a couple of tears and realized I just can't break down now. My first week of work, I cannot come back from an in-home with a red tear-stained face. I bucked up and made it back.

Today I contacted the utility companies, attended a day-long training, went to an in-home, and installed my gps - even people who have lived here their whole lives need them to do in-home work. Tomorrow, I close on the house, go to work then head back to Duluth to finish packing. The movers are coming Saturday or Sunday. They haven't called me back yet. I arranged and paid for a U-Haul for Brian to bring me my stuff from Sioux Falls. He is coming Saturday night, so I reserved a motel room for him and his new family. Sunday, I have to be in Brainerd to let him in and get my dogs and get moved in.

As long as I don't think about it, I'm fine.