Rusty & Wolf 2019

My 2021 Reading List

I am now reading three books: Life in my mind: 31 Authors … , edited by Jennifer …

In addition, I am re-reading Chris Crutcher’s book, Chinese Handcuffs.

The third book, simultaneously yet in spurts, I am also reading Irvin Yalom. MD’s book, The Gift of Therapy: An Open Letter to a new Generation of Therapists and their patients.

A note about Dr. Yalom’s book, Reader. If you are in therapy, this is a MUST read, in my opinion. Aimed at helping both the patient and the practitioner travel together for the patient to find value and respect within both themselves and their history.

I have read:

(In descending order, in case you are wondering)

The Bone Witch by Rin Chupeco

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins. The next Hunger Games novel.

Shadow Garden by Alexandra Burt

Catfishing on Catnet by Naomi Kritzer

Concrete Rose by Angie Thomas

The Book of Help: A Memoir in Remedies by Megan Griswold.

Bright Lines by Tawni Nandini Islam.

Something about America and Almost Forever by Maria Testa

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot.

Disenfranchised

Today’s takeaway from psychotherapy. We covered skills and coping as well.

Perhaps, when recognizing one’s own disenfranchisement, this is healthy, even normal.

I suppose, Diary.

I could be a disenchanted participant. What good what that really do? Truthfully, though, I am a little. Jaded as well.

Welcome to a healthy amount of numbing oneself to survive the day without losing my sh*t. It is not recommended while it is understandable. Heck, my therapist thinks it’s remarkable I have made it to this point.

What point?

The point of some growth and maintaining it. The point of still not losing my sh*t everyday. (I actually created a color scale to help me know. We all agreed on it. No joke.)

So, being at the point of feeling disenfranchised and disenchanted, seems, well normal reactions and feelings to these abnormal times and our far from normal circumstances.

Stay as safe as you can, Reader!

Best, R.

At Capacity and It is OK

January 24, 2021

Dear Diary,

I must recap our last few sessions. Two are our couple sessions. Two are mine and one is Wolf’s. A total of five (5).

Together, they are enlightening, informative and help build healthy boundaries, for me. See, I am at my capacity. The place where ‘Enough is Enough, something must change’ lies.

But, what changes…?

What changes are options? What changes are feasible? Who makes changes? Wait a moment, I, Rusty, have made change. I grew, or blossomed, evolved, made progress. Under miserable circumstances and conditions. Within extraordinary odds against it happening, it did!

The trauma endured, specifically in November, as we left the campground, we repaired together and, amazingly (no joke), I did not lose my shit. Same with the terrible laundrymat incident. Then the attack on the Capital and collective trauma re-emerging, only the pandemic before that, in recent history.

Followed by nearly getting burned with a HOT cup of tea spilling, accidentally, all over my leg. Then, Wolf in Urgent Care for his neck after falling off the back of the roof rack – 10 days before – while also applying for systems help, housing denials because of his or my past mistakes, winter weather, about a dozen weeks with income; chronic noise at the worst times of day, stuck in the truck over 85% of the time in an average week, YES, I can be at my Capacity and intolerant of some things in my relationship.

That said, how I approach them is the point and matters most. I did it, in couples fairly well, for me, that is. The language and tone (presentation) with the words surely showed my greatest growth (with a bit of grace even, I hope🤗), my steadfastness in some of my growth and progress.

Every person has a limit to their capacity. A break point, if you will. At that point, the person’s mental and emotional abilities are maxed out. Coping is at maximum, maybe exceeded. Skills are not adequate.

A turning point has descended. What next?

A break? A vacation? A narrative therapist?

I still have no idea, yet.

Be well! Stay safe,

Rusty

A Great Question. Maybe.

My medication management provider, a psychiatric nurse practitioner, just asked me a question. She does not know what made her think of it.

The question?

If Wolf and I were not together, would each of us be living in the truck, or, would we be elsewhere?

Whoa. Wow. Hm. Um.

Wolf, possibly. Probably, couch surfing also. He and I talked about the question.

As for me, the truth is, Diary, I likely would have ended up in an institution. A psychiatric hospital or institution. From there, I have no idea.

Somehow, this question bothers me. Or, for a yet identified reason, it bothers me.

I will ponder this. Eventually, something will arise.

Here is what I do know.

She did not ask with malice.
We have spoken about codependency, and ours (Wolf and I).
She was honest, she did not know what made her think of it.

What if ….

we are not sure of her meaning? Is she referring to – if we had broken up since becoming homeless/homeseeking? Or, is she referring to if we had not made it to homelessness? Or …?

Oh, well. Two weeks before I speak to her again. (Usually it is only once a month; however, we added a medication to help me quit smoking, so back to every two weeks for a bit.)

This will annoy me until then. I can feel it.

How long? How much? Good questions. I’ll see….. -Rusty

Some things do not change

Even during a national emergency, in a global pandemic and I, for one, find a funny comfort in that. Albeit, that funny comfort pertains to a demoralizing and frustratingly humiliating appointment, that is, simply, par for the course when applying for SSDI or SSI.

Seeing a Social Security Administration doctor

A little while ago, Wolf’s phone rings with a number he does not recognize. He answers. (A rarity of its own!) The caller introduces herself and concludes with “…to schedule an appointment.”

I know EXACTLY what this call is about.

We struggle with … repetitiveness

Each for different reasons. Likely, no shock there.

For Wolf, it is a trigger.

How is it a trigger?

It reminds Wolf of his father’s relentless questioning every time he left. For years. That relentlessness can wear on a person. It did upon Wolf.

As for me, it became so repetitive for me to repeat what he cannot remember. Add in repetitively starting a list, again; or trying to remember, again, what we talked about but neither of us wrote down; or, the same pattern of … repeating while I continue to be told “No, that is how you see it, not how it is.” Sometimes that statement is correct. If I can muster my honesty up, I will admit it.

When did it become a trigger?

For Wolf, the closest he has come is when I do it. When, exactly, he is not sure. He is sure it is a trigger. That we both know. Now. For sure!

For me, Dear Diary, it is complicated. Different levels, times and dynamics.

For years, J.C. and repetition were a nightmare. A term, please take note, I can, only fairly recent, describe.

Two Precipatiting Events

In the laundrymat and I have had enough of non-mask wearing people who have their mask under their chin instead of over their nose AND mouth!

The variants had already been detected and spread, we are being forced to remain “truck camping” or “homeless” or “homeseeking” or “nomadic” or “off-grid” because people will NOT wear their masks, for one important reason. Not abiding by restrictions on gathering maximums, federal employees variety of contributions to ineptness as well as flagrant discarding instructions as if elitism spared you from COVID or your ethical and moral obligation to the people you served, are now serving or are still serving. All three legislative branches. That said, I move onward to the first event.

An intense and heated argument between Wolf and a woman at the laundrymat. I cannot relive it right now. It was intense, for each Wolf and I as well as for us. We repaired it and moved beyond fairly quickly in my opinion.

It lead right back to stagnation, I felt. A session in our Couple’s Therapy Journey (or story) explained how come after we explored it.

See, the shared trauma is where Wolf and I part most. The journey is shared, the dynamics are classic gaslighting (employing flying monkeys, in particular!); yet, I was fighting for any person to see me and find some avenue to a support while Wolf was consumed by his father. Bear in mind, I ended up in That Room as a result of Wolf helping me identify my father’s own emotional abuse which intensified over the years.

Normal reactions to abnormal circumstances or dynamics. Again, it came up in session.

What else came up?

Wolf’s anger. Wolf’s confusion over our marriage talk. Memory challenges, each of us, for different reasons. The triggers have changed. Or they are not remembered.

Who? How? When? Me? No, no, no. I finally spoke about it. A tooth pulling (figuratively) amd teeth gritting talking (literally), we opened it up enough to take it full circle in couples.

You, my dear. And, yes, me. Not in the ways you think, I suspect.

But, nope!. Detoured again. The Capital had been attack. The stress was enough of how far would the forty-fifth President go. Then, we saw. For me, it triggered trauma responses while I was holding on to my growth and progress for dear life! Literally and figuratively. Tasks were becoming challenging again.

Delve instead of Blame

Unresolved trauma, unresolved anger, unidentified functioning impairments or disorder or disease leaves gaps of missing information. Making meaning out of that is hard. Challenging as well when you think about it as a part in addition to a role. (Only one or the other may not be enough. I am unsure. A language difference Wolf and I are working through. Quite differently, I might add.)

Gratitude: Growth, Progress

Dear Diary,

A blog I follow, The Write Nook, recently reminded me to write about gratitude.

Yes, I have heard this before. Read it. Thought about it. Pondered it. Forgot about it. Lost touch with it. Wrote it in Daylio (app). Made lists of it. Bought books about it. (List books included). And more, probably.

Reminders are helpful for me. Especially when from a variety of places. This does not work in all aspects. Oh, could I only hope. (I chuckle as I write that. And dream…)

Quickly moving on, this is so a healthy “if only I could… dream” is not hijacked by a thought of a symptom from either trauma or mental health. Such is the life when living with both. Although I cannot speak to it myself, I imagine it must bear some similarity in feeling. Perhaps not in intensity or duration, maybe depth. Still, a common experience, I dare to presume. Not as cognizant in most, hm, actually, good question to ponder.

Returning to gratitude, I am grateful for my progress and growth. Especially these past six months.

Just these past few days, I am grateful for knowing:

I am at my capacity, mentally and emotionally. (A relationship in a truck, almost 24/7, is trying. After all, relationships are hard even under great circumstances.)
How weathered is one part of the relationship impacting both people and their unity.
Where are each of us at directs our union, it seems. At least, for right now. Two journeys with different histories shared and sharing trauma in a triangle of a sh*tshow, both literally and figuratively, we parted. Our individual journey’s parted. [The details of how and when are for other posts.]

As for me, I am grateful I was able to express myself in our couple’s session (Thursday) and receive the feedback I did.

What’s the feedback?

Next post, Reader!

See you here soon, again, I hope. Stay safe, please! Be well, R.

How come I am on SSI

It is sure as heck is not because I enjoyed the process – which many consider traumatizing, rightfully, – of waiting over a year, constantly filling out paperwork, making phone calls, repeating the same information over and over to gain a label of “disabled”.

I appreciate and respect a reasonable and healthy amount of paperwork, time and fact checking to ensure people are not simply abusing the system or trying to be lazy. I do.

Yet!, this system is not meant to help. It doesn’t even ACTUALLY really want to help you. Which is particularly disheartening for those, such as myself, who are at the mercy of its lengthy paperwork and waiting periods. Months on average.

It forces you to appeal. The required paperwork challenges any person living with a mental illness. Some examples, from my own experience:

Time frames to submit paperwork are limited due limited cognitive functioning (although improvement has shown!) while they have months (3 to 9 months, it varies);
Same forms repeatedly;
Excuses – lost, did not receive, even in the technological age;
Need to read it, again;
Your paperwork is still not ready, I forgot it to, poof, vanished provider and having to start all over;
People who are so afraid of disrupting their precariously balanced life, they have NO cognitive ability to help you even if they are smart enough to OR they may not be able to see through your symptoms, presenting as many emotions wildly, to see the simplest help was, “Let me ask or look up”. Anything, something.
Fighting off abusers, hiding, pleading for help to a legal system which denies victims;
Bias or other -ism within institutions, systems, and individuals as well as families

Clearly I did not get such assistance or support. Then.

It is, mind you, the only way I can access the resources and supports I need to help me regain functional ability in interpersonal skill effectiveness, further skill building in emotional regulation and plain, good old, hope of a brighter future.

That has additional snags, considering we are living in a truck. I was motivated to win not because I want the label. Because I need the help.

Little did I know how much harder it would be, how long it really will last or when a glimmer of hope may arise that I can obtain housing to receive the rest of the services.

See, in psychiatry hospitals you are a risk without a permanent address.

What does that mean?

They have to have a place to discharge you to. No discharge possible, no treatment.

Using my last known address is not possible either as it is where one of our abusers live.

In summary, I receive SSI because I am focused on my poor to fair mental health while unable to work because of my trauma and help means years of homelessness, struggling and waiting for a supportive housing opportunity to come up.

Yes, my symptoms severly impaired my ability to accomplish paperwork in timely manners. Neither does any other entity I know of.

It is not as if I am in a rush. It is only my life. Nothing too important, it seems, to the power and control of the disconnected elites who oversee and make decisions regarding implementation.

Be well!

Venting again soon, Rusty