Whisper Sweetly

I have never been able to view myself as smart. Other people would hold that for me- teachers, tests, peers. My self esteem would not allow it. My parents had a systematic lack of regard for what I HAD done versus what I COULD do. “A 97? Why not a 100? A 100? Why not perfect attendance? We’re worried about your weight. Say, why are you coming home in tears so often? I guess it’s a teenager thing. Must need some space.” I lived in the shadow of my own potential, and my potential whispered sweetly about dreams and a future and having worth.

I cried writing the end of that sentence right there. It sinks me that I remain so far away from viewing myself as a creature with worth, yet I can dialectically hold the concept that all lives have inherent worth. I remain a raw, rotten lump of meat in the corner, an exception.

It’s been a rough 6 weeks or so. I’ve gotten strep, kinda beat it, had it come back with a vengeance and morph into walking pneumonia. My testosterone shot caused a giant weird painful lump in my leg. My mental health regressed enough that I ended up in a crisis residential program for a week. Additionally I’ve been in the ER three times, the Urgent Care once, and my PCP once. I got in a car accident and messed up my shoulder nicely. My anxiety is through the roof. Also, I’m not sure if it’s related to the car accident or the strep-hell but I can’t bind because it makes me completely unable to breathe. I’ve missed enough work that I’m worried about whether they’ll just give up on me like my last employer did.

I also got married, so that was cool.

I kept doing this weird thing during all this stress though. I kept house shopping.
See, I found out we were eligible for a down payment assistance program that’s really nifty.
It was a fun distraction if nothing else. But I let myself hope, and when it came down to it, if you’re getting 36 hours and your company still calls you part time, you have to have been there for 2 years.

Bye-bye hope.

I’ve had big dreams in the past.

Now all I want is a cute little fixer-upper and to SOMEDAY finish a damn degree above an Associate’s.

I was supposed to be so smart. One of those assholes that throws off the curve.

I’ll probably work entry level for the rest of my life because I am deeply, profoundly mentally ill.

Maybe smart doesn’t mean much if you’re broken.

The big bad monster crept out of my mind to stab potential repeatedly.

It doesn’t whisper anymore.

Fecal Experience

It’s hard to come up with a way to say a resident sharted in their charting summary.

She looked a little proud of herself for an instant before it happened, almost like this was a punishment for the two staff she was talking to. She may have forgotten that she had been constipated and in a lot of pain, so laxatives were given. She waved the air behind her and warned people to get away. “Ooh, boy that stinks.” Then her face fell. “I think I shit myself.”

“Then go to the bathroom.”

She said, “No, really, I think I pooped.” This time she was quieter, conspiratorial..

I made a large gesture towards the bathroom with both hands.

She finally shimmied towards the restroom muttering “I can feel it…”

A few minutes later she emerged. “I get to be excused from group.”

Group was still a ways away. “Or you could change and then go to group.”

Her eyes narrowed, she seemed to be calculating how she could still change her clothes and manage to get out of going to group, but she went to change with no further complaints.

Five minutes into group she comes out. “I really need to shower.” It wasn’t hygiene time, but the supervisor was going to make an exception in this case. However, another resident overheard that and wanted to shower too. So I got them their soaps and towels, and an additional resident walks up, asking for deodorant.

I swear to god, I spent the next 20 minutes in a conversation about which of the three deodorants she had was the best, and “is that the superman logo on the front of this label”, and “I’m pretty sure this one isn’t mine but it’s got my name on it.” By the time I finally managed to wear her down into making a choice, she hands them all back to me and says “I didn’t actually need one right now, I was just checking them.”

I don’t really know what the moral of this story is. If you administer a laxative, you’d better be prepared for nihilistic deodorant juggling?

By the way, my solution for the charting? “She tried to get excused from group about a half hour after she farted and had a, erm, fecal experience.”