Ffolkes,
It is unclear to me, even when I most try to understand, just how I’m supposed to cope with the different issues that keep arising. Without getting detailed or graphic, allow me to just say that I have three medical conditions that cause me either physical and/or emotional pain on a daily basis. Sometimes, only one is active, or giving me a problem. Sometimes, there are two of them working at once to drag me down. And some days, like yesterday, and, so far, today, all three of them bless me with their own particular demands for my attention, whether to merely acknowledge what cannot be changed, or to cope with symptoms that become extremely out of control or prominent. When all three are clamoring for my mind’s time, they each have their own little ways of grabbing the attention they want…..

One has to do with pain, of a muscular type, and is the most easily controlled; usually extra medication and time will fix it. Another, unfortunately, doesn’t respond to that kind of treatment, and requires a different approach to avoiding issues, essentially dietary boundaries that must be maintained. The last is the most insidious, and strikes in my mind, the depression and tears and guilt that swamps me at times, and only can be dissipated by spending a long time trying to do something positive, or other kinds of activities that distract me from the dark thoughts that come with the emotions…..

None of them are any fun, to speak of. And days like this, when all three are active, are massive challenges to get through. Today may be especially hard, for environmental reasons that I won’t go into right now…. If you can’t tell, I’m trying really hard to be discrete, and to not turn this into another litany of complaints, that only serves to worry those who care about me, and I don’t want to upset anyone for something that I have to do on a daily basis…. today, and yesterday, have just been a bit more difficult…. lots of back and abdominal pain, interspersed with tears, guilt, and adrenaline rushes, and aftereffects of adrenaline, which, in me, lasts for hours and hours…..

That part is over, so today becomes a challenge for two types of pain, which isn’t so hard to deal with, in one sense…. Once I’ve finished this morning’s Pearl, the only task I have for the day is to make it down to the library to post and check the yahoo email, and I’ve become accustomed enough to the walk that I think I can do it without any extra difficulty, as long as I rest up well first…. No worries, as the library is open until 9 tonight….. Easy money…. Now that I’ve bored y’all to tears with my problems, I think I should turn my head to the process of diving….  It should turn out to be a more positive activity, and work out as well as anything else….. Shall we Pearl?…..

“I just had a mental breakdown. Got any jumper cables?” — Smart Bee
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“The simple rights, the civil liberties from generations of struggle must not be just fine words for patriotic holidays, words we subvert on weekdays, but living, honored rules of conduct amongst us…I’m glad the American Civil Liberties Union gets indignant, and I hope this will always be so.” — Senator Adlai E. Stevenson

“It is not a man’s duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even the most enormous wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support.  If I devote myself to other pursuits and contemplations, I must first see, at least, that I do not pursue them sitting upon another man’s shoulders.  I must get off him first, that he may pursue his contemplations too.” — Henry David Thoreau, Civil Disobedience

Okay, I give up. It’s been three hours now, almost, and these two pearls, excellent though they are, make up the entire results of those three hours…. That’s right, two. I keep refreshing Smart Bee, but it seems to want to keep offering up stuff I’ve been rejecting for years as not useful…. too short, too silly, too long and boring, or just boring. So far, every time I’ve rebooted SB, it seems to start showing me even older stuff than the time before….. Bah, I’m taking a break….

The remainder of today’s Pearl is hereby canceled. I can’t do it…. I’m in pain, and I can’t concentrate. I hate to waste the above two quotes, as they would make very good material. But, they’ll still be available…. I’ve been down for two hours, taking a break, and don’t feel much better. So, this will have to do. Think about the above quotes, when you have a moment; they’re good stuff. I’m going to get myself to the library, add a poem, post this, and try to get back here, where I can get back to what my body wants from me today, i.e., curled up in bed, trying to ignore it all…. see ya….

“I’d like some JUNK FOOD…  and then I want to be ALONE….” — Zippy the Pinhead
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“If one is lucky, a solitary fantasy can totally transform one million realities.” — Maya Angelou

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~~ Dylan Thomas
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Here is the second part of the series begun yesterday, about a dark time in life for me…. this is some more background material about my skills and training, and a lead-in to tomorrow’s piece, wherein the hammer comes down…. or came down, right on my head….

Repercussions, Part II

In 1973, at the age of 23, I attended school to study to take the state examination for a license as a Psychiatric Technician (PT). The classes were subsidized by, and took place at, Atascadero State Hospital (ASH) in Central California. Junior college credits were given through the local J.C., Cuesta College in nearby San Luis Obispo. In conjunction with the classes, students were allowed, and encouraged, to work 20 hours per week in the hospital, as a supplement to the clinical hours required to complete the courses. So began my journey in the mental health industry, and unknown to me at the time, down the path to darkness…..

The hospital at Atascadero is a maximum security facility that houses up to 1200 individuals, committed to the bleak, prison-like hospital by the courts, as being either unable to stand trial due to being unable to understand the charges, or because they were unable to cooperate in their defense, due to mental illness. Some of these men (it is an all-male facility; women in the same legal categories were housed elsewhere, at Patton State Hospital, or PSH, in San Bernardino) were also committed by the courts as being Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, or were those who had manifested symptoms of mental illness after being convicted of crimes and sent to prison. A very few of them were not insane, but were master manipulators, career criminals with very good lawyers who had convinced the court to send them to the hospital rather than prison. These individuals caused a great many problems, as they would manipulate their less functional peers into giving up their property, or doing their will, or  incite them to violence, just to watch the results from a safe distance, for amusement.

Working in a maximum security facility as a therapist is possibly one of the most difficult jobs man has ever created; a prison-like environment makes it difficult to create the ambiance necessary to allow the men being treated to feel safe and comfortable enough to deal with their individual problems. The danger of housing so many people with mental illness is an ever-present and overriding concern, as one of the primary characteristics of those with these types of diagnoses is a lack, or even absence, of impulse control. As a result, managing assaultive behavior becomes a necessary adjunct to treatment.

The Department of Mental Health, working with employees from all the state hospitals, developed a policy for dealing with the issue, and training in Management of Assaultive Behavior (MAB) was given to every employee who came into contact with the committed individuals. Since the facility was classed as maximum security, the training was especially important for the Hospital Police, who were responsible for maintaining the security of the physical plant, and for the therapists (psychiatrists and psychologists, nurses, psychiatric technicians, and ancillary staff such as occupational and rehabilitation therapists) who were the primary care-givers for the individuals. These teams were taught specific techniques for recognizing the warning signs of impending violent behavior, re-direction when possible, and for physically controlling individuals who were acting out in a violent manner, without causing or sustaining injury.

Most of these principles and techniques, if not all, were very similar to the Judo and Ju-Jitsu that I had been taught, so my prior training and experience became valuable tools for me in being able to keep safe both the aggressors and victims involved in the violent episodes so frequently found in settings such as ASH. I became one of the people who specialized in MAB, which necessarily meant that whenever a violent incident broke out, I was one of the first to respond, as I was adept at controlling the situation without any of the participants sustaining injury, the primary goal in such instances.

Working in such a high stress environment as a maximum security hospital was both physically and emotionally draining, and after three years at ASH I had had enough, and moved north to work at Napa State Hospital in order to get back to being a therapist rather than a glorified cop. I obtained a position as a PT in a treatment program for adolescents. To me, it was  a wonderful change; the kids in the program, a co-educational environment, were smaller as a rule than the full-grown men I was used to, and there were far fewer individuals who resorted to violence than at ASH. It was also different for being co-ed, as I had previously not worked with any women, or girls, in a therapeutic setting. Because of my experience in MAB, violence on the unit where I worked became a non-viable behavior for the adolescents, and after a few months the number of incidents that took place were greatly reduced.

After a few years at NSH, I decided to take an extended sabbatical from working as a PT, and traveled around California for a few months, until not working became a bore; I was raised to be productive, and needed to get back to work. I applied to and was hired to work in another state hospital in Camarillo, a relatively small town near Ventura in Southern California. At CSH I once again worked with adolescents, as they had a similar program patterned after the one at NSH. My martial arts training, which I had continued all this time, once again proved to be a valuable tool, and I again became the first responder at any outbreaks of violence among the individuals under treatment.

I met my wife at Camarillo; she was another PT in the adolescent program. We worked together, began dating, fell in love, married and started our family. It was a challenging period for me; between work, parenting, maintaining my marriage, home maintenance, and the myriad of little things that are the activities of daily life in this country, I was a very busy, very stressed individual. But I loved it that way, and was happy and content for some years. The economy at that time changed for the worse; we were unable to keep up with our mortgage payments, and lost our house to foreclosure. We decided to move north, to the Sonoma Valley, to raise our children in a country setting, with very well-respected schools, and a much lower crime rate than the southern California area in which we had lived.

I eventually hired on back at NSH, but the adolescent program was no longer open, so I began working with adults, on an all-male unit with individuals with a wide variety of diagnoses. As the level of security at Napa was not maximum, and the degree of training was not up to the higher standards at ASH, the units in the program where I worked were very dangerous, a situation which ultimately led to my downfall. It was about this time when I calculated that in my career as a PT, I had worked in the most stressful environments in the entire world, outside of battlefields, constantly in danger, and my martial arts background had become not just useful, but absolutely critical. I estimated the number of violent incidents in which I had been involved, and found that over the years I had an average of one major incident (translation: a knock-down, drag-out fight) per week since I had started as a PT at ASH. My calculations came to a minimum of 728 incidents. I was appalled, but also somewhat proud of this figure; in all those incidents only one of the individuals had sustained a minor injury, and I had sustained one minor injury myself. Not a bad record all in all…2 failures and 726 successful outcomes.

However, the damage to my psyche that had accumulated through the years had by this time reached an unprecedented and dangerous level, and I was finding it extremely difficult to maintain the now uncertain equilibrium I had achieved. My experiences had left me burdened with an indelible yet hidden wound in my soul, in my very center. The experiences to which I’d been exposed culminated in an incident that brought all of my pent-up stress to the surface, and affected me so deeply that I still feel the effects today……I became, quite literally, one of the “walking wounded”, a condition with which my generation, due to the Vietnam War, had become all too familiar. It was a single incident, that happened one night in 1984, and to this day I have never fully recovered…..

To be continued…..
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Naturally, Murphy felt he should make a contribution to today’s effort; I don’t know how I could have ignored the possibility. Ah well, blame my distractions…. but, regardless of his efforts, or my own, seemingly, it is done. It seems like a lot, considering how I feel, and I have to point out to myself, and y’all, that a lot was created way in the past, and a lot was faked, big time. Like I said, though, it’s done, and nothing will make me give it back…. I’ve tortured myself long enough, I”m done….  Y’all take care out there, and May the Metaphorse be with you…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Kowabunga!