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rivers-rambles21 · 3 years

Text

The one with the road trip

Part 15 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Warnings | 18+ only - no smut but mentions of it

Apologies for any mistakes, this has been written on my phone and its a bit difficult to edit. Once I’m back with a working laptop I’ll give it a once over :)

Bucky had intended on renting a bike so you could ride down to Louisiana but with Sam’s suit it would’ve been an impossible feat.

He settled for hiring an SUV and added you both to the insurance so you could take it in turns driving on the long trip down south.

“Been together one day and we’re already on our first trip” You teased as you rested your feet on the dash, taking in the scenery as Bucky drove. His metal hand gripped the steering wheel as he peaked a glance over to your bare legs, resisting the urge to pull over.

“You’re the one having a mid life crisis doll not me” You feigned offense and swatted the soldier beside you, pleased to get a hit in as he tried to dodge your attack. His eyes remained on the road as he grasped your hand in his. “Less of that thank you” He laughed, bringing your hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on the back before giving it back to rest on your thigh, his hand not leaving yours.

“Looking forward to seeing Sam again?” He didn’t respond but his face said it all. “You’re so dramatic” You chuckled as you leant down to root around in your bag for the road trip snacks. Retrieving a bag of cashews, you offered it to Bucky who gladly took a handful.

“I just know he’s going to ask a billion questions about stuff we’ve not even discussed yet, that we’re probably not even ready to talk about. He didn’t stop asking about you y’know? Y/n this, Y/n that…he kept threatening to ask you out.”

“Oh he did”

The car swerved slightly as Bucky's grip on the wheel tightened, his concentration lapsing for a split second.

“He did what?” He asked, tearing his eyes from the road to glance over at you.

“It was just a bit of harmless flirting-” You began before being cut off.

“We flirted.” Bucky stated, his jaw clenching.

“We also did a lot of things just friends don’t do. Relax Sarge, he only asked to get a reaction out of me.”

Bucky grunted in response, knowing his reaction was a tad over the top but he couldn’t help it. You were his.

“We could always mess with him in return.” You pondered as you took a swig of your drink. “Maybe hold off on telling him about us, it’s only meant to be a flying visit anyway isn’t it? So we wouldn’t have to pretend for long… play him at his own game?”

Bucky smirked in response, completely on board with your little plan.

The next few hours passed with the typical car games and a quick power nap as Bucky continued driving.

“How long until you start at Starks?”

“A month thank god, the GRC wanted me gone pretty quickly, I didn't have to work my notice which was a blessing really. I’ll schedule a day to go and clear out my desk and say my goodbyes. Will you still get your pension if we live out of the country?”

“I’m not sure to be honest, I can pick up work wherever we are though, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’m good with my hands”

“You’re telling me” You muttered under your breath. Bucky heard you loud and clear and let out a laugh as he recalled how you spent most of last night. “Are we crazy? Travelling with no plan, barely any money and only just starting out as a couple?”

“Oh absolutely”

Eventually Bucky took a break from driving after you stopped for food in a roadside diner. It had been a while since you’d driven but you wanted to give Bucky the chance to get some sleep, something you knew he still struggled with.

Despite telling him to try and get some sleep on the back seats, he remained upfront with you, doing his best to battle the drowsiness that had overcome him. He’d not gotten much rest the past few weeks, from battling the Flag Smashers in Europe, to hunting down Zemo and then back to New York. In truth he was worried he’d have a nightmare and wasn’t sure on how he’d react but upon your insistence, he tried to get some shut eye. After an hour or so he dropped off, the sound of you humming along to a song on the radio sending him off into a dreamless sleep.

Bucky couldn’t quite believe it, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept without being haunted by memories of the Winter Soldier. Granted, he only got four hours of sleep , but it was the best he’d felt in a long time.

When it came to your turn to get some shut eye Bucky insisted on stopping over in a hotel for the night. You’d tried to convince him a motel would suffice after you lost the battle of you sleeping in the car but he was victorious.

To be frank, after spending so many hours in the car, you were grateful to be sleeping in a bed with your super soldier by your side.

As you slept, Bucky took the time to fire off a few emails advising he’d be ending his lease. Having slept earlier, he felt energised and was content in browsing the internet as you slept tucked into his arm.

He did his best not to wake you as he opened a selfie from Shuri of her with Ayo and Nomble, a chuckle escaping his lips as Shuri and Nomble looked to be thoroughly enjoying themselves on a boat trip in New York whilst Ayo sulked in the background.

He also replied to an email from his therapist's office, letting them know he’d be absent from his next session but planned on returning the following week.

Bucky was tempted to let Sam know he was coming but thought it best to surprise him.

The next day was much of the same, both of you switching the drive and stopping off at diners for food. Due to the lack of respect Bucky had for the speed limit, you were making good time and would be in Delacroix the following morning.

“-it was like I didn’t exist. Honestly it was the most humbling experience of my life”

“Sergeant Barnes in his uniform… now that is something I’ve got to see.”

“Maybe one day”

Your eyebrow perked at the thought. “Good god man” You groaned dramatically and sank further into your seat, giggling as you caught sight of the blush covering his cheeks. “For what it’s worth, lack of nutrients from the rationing clearly messed with her eyesight.” You were genuinely baffled how Peggy didn’t swoon for the man next to you.

“Where were you in the 40’s when I needed you huh?”

“I doubt I’d have been your type”

“Intelligent, strong woman with a great sense of humor? And thats not even mentioning your ass.. Oh no, definitely not my type” He replied sarcastically.

“Ha ha fine, I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’d have taken you dancing, maybe gone to a show or even the carnival. Anything you wanted.” He took your hand in his again and kissed the back of it as he pondered just how he’d of won you over back then. He usually didn't like to dwell on life before the war, the pain of losing his family and the future he lost was too much but having you in his life somehow made the memories hurt less. Having you with him now along with the future he could picture with you helped him make peace with his past life and accept that it wasn’t something he could ever go back to.

When Steve was returning the stones, he did wonder whether he should go back with him but the realisation that there wasn’t anything waiting for him apart from a time that he didn't belong to made his decision to remain in the present resolute. And by god was he thankful he stayed.

On your way to your final hotel before arriving at Sams, you’d taken over the driving and had kept Bucky entertained with your off key singing and terrible car games.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” As it turns out, Bucky was a sore loser.

“What? It counts!!”

“You cannot see bacteria Y/N”

“Yes I can! It’s right...right… right there!” You pointed to a random bit of the car interior and held back a laugh at a clearly unamused Bucky.

“You’re so full of shit”

“How do you know I can’t see it huh? Guess it’s my turn again, I spy with my little -”

“No” He cut off as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Absolutely not. I’m going to choose a game.”

You let out a little smile and continued focusing on the road until the super soldier landed on something he liked.

“Okay okay, would you rather sounds fun. Doll, would you rather have the superpower of being invisible or ability to fly.”

“Aw come on Buck these are tame! If I have to answer, without a doubt invisibility.”

“Not dirty enough for you sweetheart?” A tingle rang down your spine at your new nickname. “I’d have to agree, invisibility easily.”

“Buck you’re an actual superhero, you’ve already got powers, leave some for us mere mortals!”

“... you think I’m a superhero?”

“....you’re literally an Avenger.” You reached across towards the man beside you, keeping your eyes on the road as you pressed your hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky rolled his eyes at your sarcasm and swatted your hand away from his head. “Fine you made your point.”

You shook your head as you returned your hand to the steering wheel, tapping away to the song on the radio.

“The rest of these questions are boring” He muttered as he furiously scrolled through his cell.

“C’mon, go R rated”

“It’s no fun when I already know the answers to these!”

“Pfft doubtful, come on, hit me”

“Spit or swallow, you’re a swallower doll.See?”

“Okay okay! You’re right, I give in. How about we just ask each other some questions?”

“But you already know everything,” He remarked, throwing a few cashews into his mouth.

“When did you first see me as someone other than a friend?” You’d thrown him off guard with that question, his hand stuck in mid air as he went to throw more snacks into his mouth.

“Wouldn't you rather know my most embarrassing sexual encounters?” He offered but was met with silence. “Fine……. I’ve never seen you as just a friend. Yes we were friends before we became more and honestly Y/n if it never progressed further than just friendship I would’ve been fine with it, more than fine with it y’know? Meeting you was the best fucking thing-” “Buck, it’s okay” Your hand reached out towards him and squeezed his thigh as you kept your eyes on the road.

“There’s more… before we officially met in the lobby when that creep wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, I’d seen you around. I was coming back from lunch with Yori and he was complaining about having gone for burgers instead of our usual and there you were, headphones in completely oblivious to the world and searching for your keys in your purse as usual. You were just so carefree - everything I wanted to be. And then a couple of days later we met and I was a goner.”

You bit your lip as you fought back a smile, overwhelmed by his honesty. It was a welcome feeling, knowing you weren’t the only one that felt an attraction almost immediately.

“I’d seen you around too, before we officially met I mean. It’s kind of hard to miss you” You chuckled as you snuck a glimpse over at him and found him doing his usual glare. “It was pretty early on for me as well, do you remember when we went for coffee?”

“And you ordered us two cups of sugar? Yeah I remember”

“Mocha Latte’s aren’t bad for you… they just give you a bit of a buzz”

“Especially if you order extra cream…”

“Anyway! I’ve always been attracted to you, I’m not blind y’know but after seeing this dark looming strong man consume a drink like that, and have some residue cream left on his lower lip mind you, I just knew that it was more than just a crush. There’s something oddly charming and attractive about seeing someone so intimidating be so soft. It’s like I’m the only one who gets to see that side of you and I love it”

Bucky didn't quite know what to say, he was slightly flustered at the compliments you were throwing at him and by the knowledge that you’d been interested far earlier than he had ever dreamed of.

“We’re idiots aren’t we? For not realising sooner.”

“Oh without a doubt”

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Fixing It (a Dean/Cas 15x08 inspired coda)

Dean Winchester walked a long & difficult road. House burning down when he was 4, constantly being on the move until his father lost a fight with demons at the age of 25. Reunited with his mother only to lose her again. Have a son only to lose him, too. Of all the shadows that have crossed his path, he thought one of the main sources of light was his husband Castiel.

But he had to ruin that, too.

Can he ever have that shine again? Or are there things that are too good for him to hold? Will they mend what was broken?

“We met in an office like this, actually… or, outside of one.”

“Really? Why don’t you expand on that Dean.”

Dean shifts, glancing over at where Cas waits perched on the other end of the crimson couch. It drew Dean’s attention upon walking in, the sweat around his collar doubling imagining how hot it must be to sit on it. Like roasting over a pit. The image grew stronger when he glimpsed how the therapist’s hair matched her furniture.

“Well,” he squeezes his wrist, staring at his feet, “I was going to this place for a few weeks now as part of… recovery, for this thing that happened to me.” Nails bite at his skin while skimming the surface of his memory pool. “All the physical scars healed, but there was still something not clicking up in the head department -”

“Dean,” she says, halting his descent into the deep end, “You don’t have to dredge up past trauma. I didn’t ask for that. I asked about when you first met Castiel.”

His vision, once blurry, now refocuses on the rivulets of blood trickling from where his nails broke skin. “Right,” Dean coughs, “Yeah… yeah, thanks… anyway -”

Five minutes. Traffic on the highway made him late by five minutes. Dean hurried out of his car and over to the small storefront Dr. Richings rented. Not the most promising places for help in navigating his mental health, nestled between a hair salon and a Pizza Hut, but it accepted his very threadbare insurance. Plus, after getting to know him, Richings earned his respect and vice versa.

Except, with now six minutes past when he should have been there, Dean threw all his hard work away. “If you’re going to be late,” John’s voice in his head echoed, “why bother showing up at all.”

He paused, hand on the door. Breathing deeply, Dean mumbled, “Because if it matters… you have to show up.” The bile simmers and sinks into the bog it rose from, beaten back by one of the mantras Richings taught him. Waiting another beat to calm his rapid heartbeat and remind himself the other man won’t be too mad, Dean finally entered.

“Look, I know what Dr. Richings said but-but I don’t think it’s enough to warrant giving away my appointment!”

Someone with a voice like scuffed leather blocked the path to Tessa’s desk. Broad shoulders, either from actual muscles or extra padding given by the rumpled trench coat. Dark hair sticking up like he stuck a finger in an electrical socket seconds before.

“Sorry Mr. Shurley,” Tessa said, “but as I’ve been trying to tell you, we didn’t give your spot away. The doctor decided last time that you needed to have your session another day.”

“But… but it’s me !” Shurley guy continued, “Dr. Richings always reserves Thursday appointments for me at this time! I mean…” he gestures to the empty row of seats shoved against the wall, “there’s no one else here! No one comes in on Thursdays!”

“Be that as it may, this Thursday is different . The doctor is backed up and has been running over with each session as it is. He’s almost done with his one o’clock, and then he’ll see -”

“Me,” Shurley demanded, “Come on, who else could it be?”

Dean cleared his throat, finally making his presence known. Shurley whirls around, eyes wide at the interruption. Cheeks twinged pink from being caught in the act. Adorable if he didn’t see how much of an asshole he was being. As it was, Dean tamped down the urge to gasp at how the blue of his eyes contrasted with his heated, tanned skin. “Actually,” he said, “Dr. Richings is supposed to be with me for the next hour.” Glancing behind the other man, he nodded at Tessa. “Hey.”

“Dean,” she sighed, smiling, “I was wondering where you were?”

“Traffic.”

Tessa nodded, shuffling papers around on her desk. “Like I was saying, Richings should be finishing up any moment. You can sit anywhere to wait…”

He winked, “Thanks.” Dean smirked, making sure to connect with Shurley’s gaze before striding towards the chairs. Collapsing at the one closest to the magazine pile on a nearby end table, he picked a random gossip rag and began reading.

A shadow fell overhead, blocking the pictures of Michael Jackson’s doctor as he was hounded by paparazzi. “Dude,” he scoffed, squirming under Shurley’s intense stare, “ever heard of personal space.” Their knees knocked together, denim brushing against paper-thin slacks.

“Give me your appointment.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll pay you,” Castiel said, grabbing his wallet, “A hundred dollars. Two hundred. Please .”

“Look,” he said, slapping the magazine closed onto his lap. “I get you’ve got your problems, you’re in therapy. But so am I. Understand that I need this just as much as you, maybe more so?”

Owlishly, Shurly blinked at him. “Three hundred?”

“Jesus!” Dean barked, “No amount of money is going to get me to move.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

“From my experience, people will always compromise given the right amount.”

Dean bristled, feathers finally ruffled. He stood chest-to-chest with the other man. More aware of how different their outfits were. His streaked with faded oil stains and grease marks, having come from work. If Shurley were worried about dirt getting on his clean white shirt or blue silk tie, he didn’t show it. “In my experience, smart mouths lead to fat lips .”

“Was that,” he spluttered, “what that a threat?”

“Yeah it was. Problem?”

Shurley glared, leaning closer. An impossible feat given how thin the space between them was. Electricity crackled underneath, Dean’s ears roaring from an elevated heartbeat. “It may shock you,” Shurley growled, stoking flames in his belly from the low timbre, “but I am no stranger to violence.”

A line pulled from the movies that, in any other context, would have Dean creaming his shorts. Instead, tethered to the aggravating man, the pleasure felt bittersweet. “Actually, I’m not,” Dean told him, “everyone you ever met has probably wanted to knock you upside the head.”

Silence washed over them, then. Tension leaking into every empty crevice until they were wound up tighter than toys. Quickly, in the blink of an eye, it all faded. Sucked away by the sound of a door opening.

“...you did really good today, Ms. Rosen. Next week I wouldn’t mind reading some of these stories you’ve written. Maybe… try your hand at writing something pulled from life instead of TV?”

“But a good story isn’t going to come out of nowhere…” her eyes dipped towards them, a nervous smile twitching to life. “Actually… scratch that. Inspiration has been struck.”

Dr. Richings looked at them, too, cursing under breath. “Why don’t you schedule your next appointment with Tessa, I have to deal with this.”

“Ugh, fine…”

He stalked over, lightning creasing his brows. Imposing in his stoicism. Dean tried to keep his cool, but broke immediately when Richings crushed his wrist in a strong vice. His almost-opponent flinched as well. “No fighting,” he said, “ ever .” Assured they were thoroughly chastised, he let go. Dean rubbed his wrist, wincing. The doctor ignored him in favor of Shurley. “What are you doing here Castiel?”

Shurley tried answering, except- “Castiel?”

Castiel glared at him, “It’s a family name.”

“I bet,” Dean huffed, “people are only named like that out of obligation.”

“Why you -”

“Dean,” Richings hushed him, “quiet. Castiel… your appointment Is not until tomorrow.”

Finally, Castiel seemed uncomfortable. He fidgeted, fingers playing with the ties of his coat. “I know,” he said, “I know we agreed to try stepping… outside my comfort zone . But a whole day? It’s… couldn’t we have done baby steps?”

“Baby steps,” Richings frowned, “you mean like having you order a different coffee from your usual cafe?”

“Well -”

“Or having you pair your suit with a different color tie.”

“Blue with white stripes felt weird -”

“Castiel,” Richings sighed, “we’ve been doing a ton of baby steps. A Friday appointment is still a baby step. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He reached over and laid a hand of Castiel’s shoulder, “That’s what brought you here, right? Fear?”

Nodding, Castiel said, “Yes, I -”

“No,” Richings cut him off, “hold onto that fear. Write it down. Bring it to me tomorrow and we can sort it then. This is Dean’s time.”

Castiel, affronted, glanced between the good doctor and Dean. Dean smiled, a friendly gesture of de-escalation. “An invitation to punch you in the face,” Castiel called it whenever they told the story to friends.

When he left the building, Dean immediately turned to Dr. Richings. “Wow,” he muttered, “what a piece of work…”

“Don’t do that.”

“Huh?”

“Castiel’s a very good man,” Richings told him, “albeit somewhat… peculiar . But aren’t we all?” He scratched at his chin, staring at the door. “He’s been a patient of mine for some time now, and what you saw today was a vast improvement. I’m asking a lot of him, and he’s trusting me. Don’t judge him on an almost bad day.” Brow raised, he trailed his gaze across Dean’s body. “Actually… you two would get along really well, given the right circumstances.”

Dean blushed, “What? Him? No way doc…” Clearing his throat, he pushed past him and towards his room. “C’mon, we’re here to analyze my sucky brain not my sucky love life.”

“I didn’t say anything about love , Dean…”

“Shut up.”

Castiel chuckles, rubbing his thumb across his threadbare jeans. “You were an awful assbutt -”

“Can’t believe you still use that word…”

The woman across from them, perched on her chair, hums through plum lips. “An eventful first meeting,” she says, “Real hell. And that was when cupid struck?”

“No, not really,” Castiel says, “a few weeks later, I brought my car into the shop where Dean works. He fixed my car up while I waited, and we didn’t know who the other was until it came time to assess for payment.”

“Figured the guy who owned the truck was a messy dork,” Dean chuckles, “at least three different books in the passenger seat footwell… empty containers of tea with the bags inside them… and tons of loose pages with so much highlighting -”

“All my students’ tests and papers flew everywhere after the crash,” he says, Dean not needing to look to know his nose scrunched high on his face. Lines criss-crossing over themselves adorably. “Forgive me if I was more concerned with my car.”

“Super concerned,” Dean smiles, “Bothering Bobby every half-hour, asking about your car -”

“Bobby? Oh… your boss, Mr. Singer?”

“Correct Dr. MacLeod -”

“Rowena, dearie,” she coos, “call me Rowena.”

Castiel flushes, squirming. “Right, sorry… Rowena. Bobby was Dean’s boss. And I wasn’t bothering him, I was concerned. I’d had my truck since my dad bought it for me in high school and I… I was a touch too sentimental in the past. I didn’t want to have to get a new car… so Bobby placated me, telling me how his best mechanic was making it better than new.”

“Ol’ bastard did love to exaggerate…”

Rowena smiles, checking through her notes. “Now Castiel, this isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned your… sentimentality . From your files it looked like you were going to Dr. Richings for a number of years about this. Why did you stop going?”

“I started getting better,” he says, “doing what the doctor suggested and… and meeting Dean helped me overcome many of the obstacles I normally struggled with. I’m sure you can see in my files the day I came to Richings without wearing my usual trench coat.”

“Probably next to ‘thank God for Dean’s clumsy fingers and open cans of motor oil’.”

“ Dean ,” Castiel hushes, the name ripped from his lips. A rush of quiet follows, and the warmth normally following his name hurts. Sobers any levity. “Anyway, weekly appointments became bi-weekly… which became monthly and bi-montly until, well… until he passed away.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rowena says, squeezing the arms of her chair in lieu of their knees. Dean accepts the sentiment, meaning well-sourced in her thick accent. “And thank you both for telling me all this… I must admit when you two first started coming to me, I was wondering why. Mainly because of the lengthy history you two had with another doctor. Wasn’t sure if there was a falling out or anything…”

“No,” Dean tells her, “nothing like that. Me, I stopped going when I needed to. Went back whenever I got a bit overwhelmed with life and… spiralled .”

“Do you think that’s what happened then, Dean?” Rowena asks, “Did you spiral too much without Richings’ help until you crashed?”

A storm cloud rolled overhead, thundering. Shadows flashed over Dean’s eyes, vision blackening briefly and exploding with the colors of the room. He mulls Rowena’s words in his head. Uncaring to how they sound when it’s Richings saying them. Or Sam.

“I’m not going to let you give up like this,” Sam said, standing over the guest bed. Blanket held high over Dean so he couldn’t hide under it. Pillow long kicked to the floor. “We’re all worried about you. Bobby keeps asking me when you’re going back to work.”

Dean gurgled, rolling away so he wouldn’t face his brother. Squishing the empty bags of chips, turning crumbs into dust.

“She’s highly recommended,” Sam continued, “I met her through a client. Prosecution wanted us to give a detailed history of her mental health, and MacLeod was her therapist. She helped me with my case and even took the stand when the time came to strengthen our defense.”

“So?” Dean asked, “Good for you. Don’t see how that affects me.”

“Because she’s smart, kind, and won’t take any of your shit,” he tells him, “and you need that right now.”

“I don’t know Sam. That sounds like you, yet I’m still here…”

“Because you don’t want to listen to me. You don’t want to listen to anyone . There are only two other people who might help but you’re not speaking to one and the other is dead .” Sam sat on the bed, mattress dipping. “Dean… Richings can’t help you anymore. You need to see someone… talk about what happened -”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“So much Dean!” Sam yelled, “I might not know all the pain you’re going through but I understand a lot of it. I know what it’s like to feel loss . And now… she was my mom, too, Dean. Jack was my nephew. We’ve already lost enough people… stop giving them away.”

Anger flared inside Dean, and he clawed through Sam’s bedspread. “You think I’m giving him away? No, Sam. Cas can make his own choices. He don’t seem too keen on stopping by anytime soon for a chat.”

“He’s willing to go.”

Faster than the spark breathed to life it was snuffed. “What…?”

“Cas?” Sam said, “I already tossed the idea his way. If you agreed to go… he would too. He still believes you two can fix this.”

Dean let Sam leave without another word. Wouldn’t speak to his brother the following morning, not even attempting to sign his disparate malice to his sister-in-law. Kept to his vow until Sam dropped him off for the first session at the high rise. Made it all the way to the fifteenth floor, stewing in his aggravation. Until the elevator doors opened and he caught sight of a familiar trench coat.

“Cas.”

Barely a whisper, his name echoed in the empty waiting room. His husband looked up from his lap, dropping the strips of his ratty security blanket. Hurt welled in his too-blue eyes until he shut it down. Caged by purplish bags and new wrinkles. He retreated to his trench coat, pulling it over his t-shirt.

Like it didn’t make him any less ridiculous.

Dean signed in with the receptionist, finding the furthest chair away from Castiel and setting up camp until their names were called.

Neither were too keen to do anything in those first sessions.

Four months in, there’s been progress. But no light at the end of the tunnel.

“Tell me Dean,” Rowena carries on, “do you think Dr. Richings could have helped you process the recent tragedies that blew up your life?”

Dean scoffs, “I wouldn’t say blew up -”

“You lost your son to a horrible illness days and your mother to a careless drunk driver,” she speaks over him, tone smooth and sharp like a thumbtack piercing a corkboard. “Burying both within a matter of days of each other. You’ve lost your job. You’re no longer living in your house. And you’re here, in my office, because you’re inches away from your separation turning into a divorce . Tell me again how your life isn’t in complete shambles?”

He glared at her, arms crossed. “When you put it like that…”

She sighed, pinching her brow. “I didn’t mean to get cross with you, dearie, I just…” Rowena sets her notes aside and stands. “We’ve been at this awhile. You’re both good people who’ve been dealt unlucky cards. I wish neither of you had to go through what you did.”

“But we had to,” Dean growls, “I’ve always had to. Mom, Jack… I don’t know why I thought it would be different…”

Mary Winchester nearly died once. The Winchester brothers thought she did, perishing in a fire that consumed their childhood home. John spirited them away before they saw it fully collapse. Too early. For if they stayed a bit longer, they would have seen a fireman carry a somewhat charred, unresponsive woman to a nearby ambulance.

Maybe their family would have been whole. Maybe Dean could have grown up at a normal pace. Maybe their home wouldn’t have been a sleek, black muscle car from the past.

Maybe John Winchester wouldn’t have lost his battle with the demons goading him to drink every night until he couldn’t take it anymore and blew his brains out. Not telling either of his children until they received a call from a motel owner south of nowhere telling them how they found his body.

At least in John’s death, they found a new beginning.

Mary attended like a vision, almost too good for reality. They were right, when Dean approached her and a heavy fog clouded her vision. “Dean?” she said, “It… sounds familiar.”

After the fire, Mary woke with no memory past one of meeting a man with his foot glued to the accelerator and a taste for classic rock. Her parents filled her in on nothing. Keeping her in the dark about her sons, the ones named after them.

It took years for her memories of them to return, to create new ones. And they were for nothing.

Almost as pointless as taking in the child of a dear, late friend.

“He is technically my nephew,” Castiel said, watching Jack play with other kids his age. Arm wrapped over Dean’s shoulder. “And we both know Nick won’t have anything to do with the boy. Kelly wouldn’t want him shuttled off to some foster system, to be forgotten.”

Jack tripped over the basketball, landing on his knee. Dean jumped. An urge to run over and check on the boy awoke in that moment, seemingly from nowhere. He ignored it, instead watching what happened next.

Rolling over, Jack pulled his knee close and checked it. From how exposed the skin was to wear and tear by wearing shorts, Dean guessed he must have scraped it. Except there were no tears.

Jack stared at his knee for a long time, enough that the kids around him picked the ball up and continued playing without him. Then, after a minute that felt like hours, he turned to where Dean and Cas were standing. Looked at them, silently asking ‘Can you believe this?’

Dean chuckled, leaning into Cas’s embrace. “Yeah… yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure sure,” Dean said, “We’ll be good for him… and him, us.”

They were wrong then, too. Jack’s father struck with a vengeance, taking them to court for custody over their boy. With Sam’s help Dean and Castiel barely managed to keep guardianship of him.

It wasn’t a long duty. Almost as soon as their legal troubles were over the medical crisis began. Cancer too far along, Jack’s candle flickered dangerously in the wind.

“Dean,” Castiel says, closer than he was before, “Dean it’s not like we could have known any of this was going to happen.”

“But we should have!” he yells, “My life’s been nothing but some big cosmic joke. Some-some show that a cruddy audience jerks it to whenever I’m in pain.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It is Cas,” Dean says, blinking through tears, “Why can’t you see I’m just a lousy screw-up, huh? Your dad was right about me…”

“Hold on a minute,” Rowena stops him, hovering nearby, “what did you say?”

Dean rolls his eyes, wiping at the stray watermarks. “That I’m a screw-up -”

“No,” she waves him off, “about Castiel’s father?”

He scowls. “Yeah. What about it? He’s not the first person to call me a screw-up…”

“But you mentioned him , specifically,” she continues, walking back to her seat. Notes in hand, Rowena asks, “Has your father been a sore spot for a long time, Castiel?”

Castiel startles, glancing away from Dean. “What? I… uh, yes. I guess? Ever since Dean and I started dating he hasn’t been the-ah… the most supportive .”

Something bitter roils in Dean’s chest when he laughs. “It took your brother and sister locking him in a bathroom to keep him from interrupting our wedding.”

“He has this… idea of what me and my siblings should be doing with our lives,” Castiel explains, “Some of us followed in his footsteps and joined the family company. While others… rebelled. My brother Nick went into politics. Gabriel is a producer in Hollywood and Hannah… they teach sculpture at a community college in Maine.” “So your profession as a professor -”

“Was not well received,” Castiel sighs, “Every decision I made that he didn’t agree with, he saw it as me not achieving all I could do. That I was limiting myself. He pushes people very hard. As you can see me attest to in my files many of my neuroses were not aided by his parenting.”

Rowena scribbles on her notepad, tone lilting when she connects a few dots Dean cannot see. Too busy trying to figure out what she’s doing, he doesn’t see her turn to him. “Dean, my boy,” she starts, “why did you bring up Chuck just then?”

“What?”

“When you were talking to Castiel, you mentioned Chuck. Why was he on your mind?”

Dean shrugs, slumping in his seat until his knees hit the coffee table. “I don’t know. Sometimes when I’m in a funk my brain plays a mixtape of all the people who’ve said bad things about me and the dashboard buttons stick, so there’s no stopping it. Like I said, he wasn’t the first to call me a screw-up, definitely not the last.”

Rowena nods, mirroring his too-wide smile. “Of course,” she says, “you’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?”

He pinches his thigh. “I’ve told you enough.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Dean?”

“I know that if I’m not ready to talk about things, I don’t have to.”

“This isn’t about being ready, Dean. This is about not wanting to face whatever happened -”

“Who said anything happened!” he yells, leaning forward, “I didn’t say that! It’s not like there was anything to happen. Nothing happened! I made sure of it when Chuck -” Dean bites his lip, cheeks heating under the victorious leer Rowena shoots his way. He avoids meeting Castiel’s curious stare when he returns to his earlier position. “You’re awful.”

“Awfully amazing,” she says, “Now… you and Chuck. Was it a recent altercation?”

Dean checks the clock, aware of how little time is left of their appointment. Waiting her out is preferable to dredging up that memory.

But then, “Dean…”

Looking at Castiel was a mistake. At his soft eyes, his parted lips, his overgrown stubble. Make him hoist the white flag and resign to mortifying ideals.

“It was a day or two after Jack’s funeral,” Dean begins, talking to his hands, “Cas… you’d gone with Gabriel to pay for the service. I was putting casserole after casserole away…”

“Coming!” Dean yelled, dropping Donna’s plastic Tupperware onto the counter in his haste to answer the door. He hurried when the incessant knocking grew louder. “I said I was coming,” he grumbled, “what’s so important that you’re… oh .”

Chuck stood on the other side, an air of casualness wafting from him. Dressed casually in a fitted Henley, dark-wash jeans, leather boots and a jacket. A total sum of more than what Dean made in a month. “What?” he asked, “Not gonna invite me in?”

“Finally admitting you’re a bloodsucker then?”

He pursed his lips. “Cute.” Chuck strode past him, “Where’s my son?”

“Cas isn’t here,” Dean told him, door still open, “If that’s all?”

Chuck glanced back, smirking. “Not that easy. I didn’t come here for him.”

Dean frowned, slamming the door shut. “What Chuck? What do you want?”

“I came here to talk to you.”

“Sure,” he huffed, “because you couldn’t have done that when you were at the funeral.” They barely shared a glance, Dean only knowing Chuck came by a whispered warning from Hannah and a peek at the back row when going up for Jack’s eulogy. “If you’ve come by to say you’re ‘sorry for our loss’ or some other bullshit… I don’t need to hear it.”

“Well… now that hurts Dean,” Chuck said, “Jack was as much my grandson as he was your son… actually, he was more . Biological factors considered -”

“ God !” Dean groaned, pinching his nose, “Haven’t I already suffered enough ?” Sagging against a nearby wall, he waves at his father-in-law. “Come on. Out with it so we can get this over with.”

Contempt flashed to life on Chuck’s face, quickly smothered by a self-satisfied smirk. “All right. Fine . I’ll skip the appetizers and present the main course.” The metaphor knocks his eyes so far back in his head they roll forward again without help. “I’m here to offer my help.”

“Help? What kind of help do you think we need?”

“The kind of help I can provide,” he explained, “ Money .”

Dean tensed, gaze flicking to the other man. “Money?” Five letters that made every nerve left in his body join their brothers, when one by one they turn to ash. Stoked to burn by memories, time after time of Chuck’s snide comments about their lifestyle. Being forced to listen, to bury his anger, with each insinuation he made from ‘concern’.

“Money,” Chuck said, fiddling with the jacket zipper, “You know… you could make a higher salary if you applied yourself more.”

He scoffed. “If I applied myself any more I’d be pushing Bobby’s wheelchair down a staircase.”

“Then maybe it’s time to consider a change?”

A chill rushed down Dean’s spine. Before he could comment, Chuck rushed into his spiel. About how Michael decided to leave the company after falling for some vagabond during a corporate retreat. “Adam’s a nice boy,” Castiel tells Rowena, “and very charming. I mean, he got my brother to pick up yoga .”

“Anyway,” Dean says, a fierce itch tingling behind his eyes, “instead of promoting from within, he got the idea to rely on old-fashioned nepotism.”

“From how you describe your father-in-law,” Rowena says, “It doesn’t seem like he’d be pretty keen on doing such a thing. What drove him to make such an ask?”

Dean sneaks a peek at Castiel, frowning.

“I know neither of you two are in a good place right now,” Chuck said, “financially, I mean.”

“How would you know that?”

Chuck switched to an even more irritating expression. Lips stretching in plastic sympathy. “Because of something I overheard after the service.”

“Castiel and Gabriel were talking,” Dean says, “About how, with both Jack’s and my mom’s… a huge chunk of our savings was gone. Not taking into account the money we funnelled towards medical bills until we found a St. Jude’s we’re still paying off. We were scraping by each month as it was… after all that…”

“It is to be expected,” Rowena says, “after such traumatic events for money to be a sore subject.”

“But,” Dean sighs, wiping at his nose, “I had to… I had to hear it from hum .” He shifts, turning to face his husband, “Cas, I had to hear it from Chuck and not you .”

He heard a lot from Chuck. When Dean rejected the offer, repeated with shaky confidence how they were doing fine with where they were, his father-in-law went livid. “You really are a fool,” he spat, barreling past him towards the door, “every day my son spends married to a buffoon like you is another he subjects himself to torture. Because you, Dean Winchester, are poison . You take so much from Castiel and push all your problems onto him and give him nothing . It’s no surprise all of this happened, because you wreck everything you touch. I hope you enjoy the gutters when the bank evicts you from your home in a month. Not like they’d be able to turn a profit on this shitty thing…”

“And then he left,” Dean shrugs, numb to the gentle caress of Castiel’s hand on his back.

“After all that?” Rowena asked, “He shouted at you and you did… what?”

“I did nothing,” he said, “I couldn’t do anything when he was right.”

“Dean -”

“He was, Cas,” Dean cries, “I mean, look at us! We’re in freaking therapy because I couldn’t lose just my mom, or my son… I had to lose you, too and I couldn’t handle it.”

Castiel readies another dismissal, but keeps his finger on the trigger. Tongue pressed against teeth, only part of him moving his brows furrowing above. He loads another, more deadly bullet into the barrel and fires at his heart. “Is this why, Dean? Why you pushed me away? Why you… you became so cold ? Why you said all those hurtful things at me?”

Dean wrings his hands, copper all he can taste. “I blew up,” he admits, “You were just… there. Being so kind… so caring, and I - I was so mad that I couldn’t be the same. Too full of my own bullshit that I couldn’t stick to my vows and be there for you.” Choking back a sob, he rocks into Castiel. “I never meant what I said… I… everything I said, were things I thought about myself.”

Rowena hums, scribbling in her notepad. “Dean, is this something you’ve done before?”

He nods. “I… yeah. I’ve had a history of being unable to process my anger in a healthy way. Or… at least that was how Dr. Richings described it.” Dean attempts a smile, lips twisting into a grimace. “After he helped me through that… dark period, I’d still go back to him from time to time-”

“When life started spiralling?”

“Yeah…” Sighing, he pulls from Castiel’s embrace, unable to rely on his husband as a shield. “I’ve… it’s always been a problem, since I was young. This anger. I don’t know why it’s there but it’s like it… it never goes away. And when everything becomes too much, and the voices in my head get too loud I… I…”

“You blow up?” Rowena finishes, glancing at Castiel, “Hurting those caught in the crossfire?” She adjusts in her seat, crossing her legs. “Has he ever blown up at you like this?”

“A few times,” Castiel admits, “But usually, with some time and space, we come back together. Normally only a few days, but…”

“But this was going on for much longer.” Rowena taps her pen, staring at Dean. “Why didn’t you seek to resolve this? If the pattern is blow up, space, reunion… why break the cycle?” He won’t answer her. Chews on his tongue so he can’t answer. It doesn’t matter. “Did you think you were doing Castiel a service by staying out of his life?”

“Shit,” he breathes. A nail pierces his heart, hammered in expertly by Rowena. “How are you this good?”

“Because I am dearie… so if you will?”

His mouth flaps for a beat, only no sound accompanies it. Throat stopped up by fear, thick and watery and not enough to truly choke on. Dean looks at Castiel, studies the infinite sadness rippling across his eyes. The only part of him that dare show how he’s feeling. “Because of this,” he growls, “because you’re holding back from me.”

“What -”

“Here I am having a breakdown and you look like it’s another fucking Saturday!” Dean yells, “Like you… you checked out, and were just waiting for an excuse to leave. At least… at least that’s what I believe, after talking with Chuck.” He gasps, tugging at his hair. “Christ, Cas, if you were worried about money why didn’t you bring it up with me? Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling? I want to help but it’s like… it’s like you won’t let me .”

“Dean,” Castiel says, “I… I don’t know what to - to… I’m not waiting for an excuse to leave you -”

“Well how was the poor boy supposed to know that, Castiel?”

Castiel whips around towards Rowena. “Excuse me?”

She sighs, flipping through her notes. “In every session, you’ve been a willing participant. Moresoe than your husband. However… everything you ever said was about him or in relation to him… we never hear any ‘I’ statements from you.”

“I highly doubt that,” he says, lips twitching into a nervous smile, “I just said ‘I’... and I did it again!”

Rowena arches a brow. “In fact,” she continues, “didn’t you mention how, the day after Dean left you, you were ‘chugging coffee to stay awake in class’.”

“It was a very important week for me, most of my students’ grades were calculated from these presentations -”

“An average person in this kind of situation would not be too keen to go back to class,” she says, “in fact, you didn’t miss a single class since. Did Dean’s absence really affect you?”

“...Of course it did!” Castiel snarls, cool facade entirely shattered under the implication, “My love for Dean is as infinite as the stars in the sky or-or… or the amount of fucking purple you have in your office. But I know when to put my own troubles aside for others -”

“That you do, Castiel,” Rowena agrees, “In fact… it said in your file you have a tendency to absorb others’ burdens at the expense of dealing with your own?”

Dean watches Castiel barely contain his ire. Fingers twitching against his knee, scraping the denim. Eyes almost shut from how tightly they squint across the table, like he could smite her with a thought.

“You spend all your energy trying to fix things,” she says, “that there’s no time to hone in on what you’re feeling -”

“Because I know what I’m feeling!” “Good! What is it, then?”

“I… It’s... “ Castiel sighs, sagging into the couch now, “I’m tired, I’m… I’m empty . Like there’s been this darkness inside of me, chipping away until I’m nothing but a husk. And I figured maybe… maybe if I didn’t give it any attention, it would go away.”

“That’s no way to beat a beast like that, Castiel,” Rowena tells him, “You should know. Your history with depression -”

“Was a fucking nightmare,” he cuts her off, “some days I couldn’t get up from my bed I didn’t think it was worth it. Once… once, it was so bad, I nearly lost my job because I kept missing classes. All because I allowed myself to stare into the abyss and was foolish enough to blink.”

Rowena won’t quit. “You’re scared.”

“Damn right I’m scared.”

“And because of this fear,” she says, “you shut yourself off. Kept things bottled up.”

“Not… not entirely,” Castiel says, looking to Dean. “I… all your life, you’ve had other people’s shit dumped on you. Your dad’s… your mom’s… grandparents, co-workers, former partners… I didn’t want to be that. Didn’t want to put you through anymore of it. You had your own problems, and I wanted to be there for you .”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, reaching across to curl his arm around his husband’s shoulders, “When we stood across from each other all those years ago… I wasn’t accepting just the good parts. It was all of you.”

“But -”

“Everyone else dumped on me without my consent,” he says, “You… I want to be there for you. To help. Be equal… not treated with fucking kid’s gloves.”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel says, a tear traversing the planes of his cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

“We lost so much already,” Dean sniffs, “and we almost lost this… I’m sorry, too.”

They hold each other. Reacquaint themselves with parts they kept themselves from sharing because of their own stubborn beliefs. Dean breaths in the scent of laundry detergent around Castiel’s neck, heart aching because he missed it. Because Sam makes his own instead of buying Tide like a normal person.

“Now this is really lovely, boys,” Rowena says, clapping. Drawing them from the embrace, “Truly. But… we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “too easy, right?”

“You’ve made a lot of progress already,” she winks, “so I doubt the rest will be hard. That being said… our time is officially over.”

“It is?” Castiel asks, “That was all an hour?”

“An hour and five minutes but… who am I to rush healing,” she shrugs, “Besides, my next patient is a total narcissist and making him wait will be good for him.” Rowena stands, beckoning them to do the same so she can shake their hands. “I think you two are finally ready for some homework.”

“Homework?” Dean winces, “C’mon, Rowena…”

“Nothing too serious,” she laughs, walking them towards the door, “The two of you have taken so many hits, that it’s definitely bruised your relationship. So I want you two to take it back to where it all began.”

“Meaning?”

“Recreate your first date,” she tells them, “Reflect on what drew you two to each other and remind yourself of all the happiness that existed because of your union. And write it all down, because come our next meeting I want to hear all about it!"

“We will, Rowena,” Dean says, smile more genuine than ever, “Thank you.”

“All in a day’s work, dearie…”

They leave her office, walking side by side to the elevator banks. When it opens up, someone rushes out and between Dean, uncoupling their joined hands. Dean only notices they were glued together when forced apart, and quickly fixes that mistake.

“I’ve missed being able to hold your hand,” he says.

“I missed having your hand hold mine.”

Dean looks at his husband, calm with very obvious tear-stains on his face. “Do you think we’ll ever get back to where we were?” he asks under the delightful mediocrity of elevator music.

Castiel meets his gaze. “I’m not sure,” he says, “I don’t believe we can ever be the same as we were yesterday but… I hope we can be better.”

“So do I…” A breath. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Rowena walks to her car, fixing her hair into a ponytail. “Fucking naturalists,” she huffs, “Not everything can be cured with fucking crystals… if you’re gonna get into witchcraft at least make it interesting .”

At her car, she moves to enter. Only her phone chirps with a new message, drawing her focus. “Please don’t let it be a patient,” she says, checking.

She reads the texts, and smiles.

It was a patient. Rather, patients. Dean and Castiel sent her a photo - a selfie. From years ago, by the looks of it. Followed by another picture. A recreation of the first, with the same table, same candle, and same bottle of wine. Same all-consuming love for each other.

Thanks, doc .

“These are the moments that make it worth it Rowena,” she says, “make it all worth it…”

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #15x08 #Castiel #Dean Winchester #Rowena MacLeod #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic

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goaltracker · 5 years

Text

April tracking: 4/9/19

Alright first week down let’s see where we’re at! Also, I love you!

Academic Growth

Objective: Finish work quickly, efficiently, and impressively. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Complete all homework, mandatory and recommended readings, and projects during the weekdays to have open weekends available.

Progress: I have not done this not once. The quality hasn’t been affected, I don’t think. But the stress levels of doing things at the last minute is through the roof! I’ll do better.

Objective: Engage in class by speaking to teacher or at class at least once every class. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Answer teacher or student questions directly to add value to discussion. This month, we’re making an impression, but in a cool way.

Progress: I think I’ve been doing this to the point where it’s too much? I’m not sure. I’ll speak once a class but I don’t want to add unnecessary comments.

Personal Growth

Objective: Care for my cat. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Buy him a flea collar. In addition, give him 15 minutes of TLC.

Progress: I won’t buy him a flea collar yet because I think I still have one dosage of Frontline left. I’m just going to use that.

Objective: Learn a vegetarian recipe.

Measurement: I will learn to make chiles rellenos this month. For lent and for me hell yeah!

Progress: I haven’t even started but now that I’ve gotten paid I definitely want to give it a shot.

Objective: Care for my car. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Continue cleaning out trash daily. Add air to tires when needed. Get a car wash.

Progress: I just did my budget and I don’t have enough to get a car wash. I haven’t really been checking my car thoroughly and I haven’t put in air since the light came on. I’ll try to do that today.

Objective: Read daily. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Start “My Beloved World” by Sonia Sotomayor. Read 1-2 chapters each time and finish this book by the end of the month.

Progress: I’ve started. I’m not reading daily but I think I can still finish the book by the end of this month.

Objective: I will write weekly. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Write a scene for The Unlikeables every week by Sunday.

Progress: I have started at least two different fan fiction scenes, and no Unlikeables. I’ll try to do better this week for sure.

Objective: Connect with family and friends more. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Continue to either call, text, or DM a family or friend. Call abuelita, Cande, Raul, and Jr this month. Visit Jasiah this month.

Progress: I’ve talked to Cynthia but it was brief. I’ve talked to Mayra but also brief and with Mimi. Hopefully I get to see Jasiah and Jack by the end of this month. No Cande, abuelita, Jr. or Raul yet, maybe something will present itself.

Objective: Make more friends from and put effort into making meaningful connections.

Measurement: …Put more romantic boundaries with Tania… I don’t know if she likes me so I have to assume she doesn’t so I don’t end up creating illusions for myself. On the flip side, I’m going to ask out Alex again. See if she’s down to hang. I’m going to hang out with Brandon. See if he actually cares about me lol. I’m going to ask Homayun to see me more. Honor what we both want.

Progress: Yesterday Brandon hit me up to hang. I told him I could but we probably shouldn’t because he seemed busy. And the days he could meet, he usually expected something from me that I’m not interested in. He didn’t respond, so that’s that. Homayun hit me up on Saturday and asked if I was free that night. I told him that I was with my roommates and I was good that night. He said goodnight and hasn’t hit me up since. So that’s that. I went on a date with a guy named Robert on Sunday. We had great conversations I thought, but then he kissed me and got out the door at the end. I don’t know, it rubbed me the wrong way about how everyone wants and expects something, and he just took it without even wondering if I was into it. He messaged me Monday to make plans again but I rescheduled. I don’t think I want to see him anymore. Alex and Reine, I don’t think they’re into me either. They only text if I do so first, there’s no excitement from their end. Tania has been trying to hit on Mimi and I’ve asked her to not. I think she might be doing it to get a reaction but I don’t like it. She called Mimi one of her bitches and I know it was a joke but I don’t like it. I love Mimi. I don’t think I like Tania anymore. People are not interested in me right now and that’s okay. I still like me, and we’ll keep going forward.

Professional Growth

Objective: I will be at least 2 minutes early to every shift. (Continued from last month) (Continued from last month.)

Measurement: Continue leaving my location with plenty of time to get to my next destination without speeding and taking traffic into consideration. I will make sure to leave enough time for my lunch and breaks.

Progress: Nope. I’ve been late to BM, MM, and TR. I need to do better.

Objective: I will be showered and professionally dressed every day.

Measurement: Because depression is in full swing, I will write in my planner days to shower every other day.

Progress: Haven’t showered every other day but every two days, yeah. I’ll work on it I don’t want to be gross.

Physical Growth

Objective: I will eat three meals every day. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Eat breakfast between 7-9am, lunch between 12-3pm, and dinner by 6-8pm. Healthy snacks after 10pm.

Progress: Have not done this. I haven’t been waking up on time, I don’t know how eating got so hard. I’ll work on my sleep schedule so I have time to eat breakfast.

Objective: I will exercise daily. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Start walks at least 3 times a week for 1 hour. Look into what gym I can join with budget.

Progress: Have NOT done this. I haven’t walked with Tania and I’m not really doing anything on my own.

Objective: Start a gym membership.

Measurement: Budget $130 for 24 Hour Fitness if possible.

Progress: Let’s see if we can do this starting today!

Spiritual and Mental Growth

Objective: Attend church weekly. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Attend either 5:30pm Spanish session or 6pm Youth Group. See which one I would like to devote to. Or attend Pentecostal church nearby.

Progress: I haven’t been doing this. I’ll check right now what the Pentecostal church schedule is.

Objective: Read the bible daily. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Read the bible every morning before starting the day.

Progress: I’ve been trying this! I’m ahead actually. Woohoo, go me.

Objective: Find a new meditation class.

Measurement: Research other options.

Progress: I haven’t done this. I can look for something right now.

Objective: See therapist monthly. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: Make an appointment for at least once this month with Anji.

Progress: I’m going to see her this weekend, I believe.

Objective: I will keep a clean and organized place of living. (Continued from last month)

Measurement: I will schedule chores for at least 2 community space and 1 personal space area per week.

Progress: I started working on my clothes and will finish today, hopefully. I finally dug up all of the extra stuff from the accident from under the clothes pile. I don’t know what to do with it. Should I hold on to it in case Raina asks for it or just donate it? I just want it away.

Objective: I will acknowledge my feelings and vulnerabilities.

Measurement: I will write in my journal once every two weeks.

Progress: I’ve been writing every time I feel shitty. It’s been helpful. Thank you Me for looking out for depressed Me, I know wallowing can just get me stuck.

Financial Growth

Objective: Budget (Continued from last month)

Measurement: With first check, I will budget out car, car insurance, Heartland loan, CASA, cat, gas, and food. Then, Anji and savings. Then Jasiah, gym, and credit card. Then car wash and seafood spot. With the second check, I’ll pay rent and utilities, Navient loan, gas, food, phone, and savings.

Progress: I think I got most things accounted for. I didn’t budget out Jasiah since we might not go for another couple weeks. I also didn’t include car wash because Mimi said she might do that. If not, still not that much discrepancies.

Alright. I’m not doing too bad. Chores and time management is still an issue, but otherwise we keep treading onwards.

#we grow together #april goals

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intrepidescapist · 6 years

Text

I don’t like talking about my home life in detail to people I don’t know well, much less post about it online, but I could use some help.

My name is Nico and I’m, mentally ill, non-binary, queer, and currently stuck in an abusive household with an alcoholic father that I’ve been trying to get out of for years, so far with no success. When I was eighteen I had a plan to leave home without saying anything, but I was too worried for my younger sister. Now that she’s an adult and has a support system of friends and family that are aware of the situation I’m a little more comfortable with trying to get out of my house.

My father is a very religious, homophobic, alcoholic, and I’ve been taking care of him emotionally and cleaning up after his drunken messes since I was twelve. I’m twenty two now. He uses me as an emotional sponge, and if I say anything to the contrary or even suggest he isn’t an excellent parent he either reacts with explosive anger, or starts drinking more aggressively, sometimes both. Over the course of a decade I’ve tried to get him to stop drinking by confronting him, staging family interventions, making him see a therapist, going to AA meetings –everything short of rehab, but it’s the same song and dance every time. He acts apologetic while making excuses for himself and then temporarily stops drinking. The longest he’s been sober in ten years is about six months.

Last summer he had a hemorrhagic stroke that came seemingly out of nowhere, but was caused by his excessive drinking. Miraculously he survived with almost no issues, but while I hoped that this would send the message that he needs to stop drinking, it didn’t. He’s drunk right now as I’m writing this. If anything this proves that unless he gets into rehab, which is extremely unlikely knowing him, he will continue to drink himself to death and I’ll be the one left to clean up after him.

I’ve had to deal with horrible suicidal depression and anxiety as a result with living with this man. He is impossible to reason with. He’s prone to angry outbursts and refuses to believe that he’s had any affect on my mental state. I once confided in him that I was suicidal years ago, and the only thing he said to me was that if I killed myself he would have to do the same, disregarding the fact that would leave my younger sister parentless. I stayed alive out of fear of what would happen to her and familial obligation. I spent years hanging by a thread. Since I was twelve I’ve had to literally clean his piss and shit off the floor and walls of the house, and escort his obscenely drunken self while he was sometimes naked, usually in his underwear, back to his room so no one would see. There was a summer when I was a teenager, and every day I’d come home from work at five PM and he’d already be shitfaced. I’ve had to confiscate his car keys so he wouldn’t drive drunk in the middle of the night. He has picked me up and driven me places while completely drunk, and I couldn’t say anything because I was afraid of what would happen. Before I could drive there were occasions where I had to hold onto the steering wheel to keep the car steady while he drove. I’ve had to lock my door at night when he drinks because he’s drunkenly mistaken my bed for a toilet and tried to piss in it, or in other areas of my room. I just had to clean his piss off the floor last week.

My father likes to go on rants about how homosexuality is going against god, how trans people are severely mentally ill and freaks of nature. I’ve been subjected to hours long rants about how being gay is one of the worst possible things that could happen, that it isn’t natural, that the only way a person could be gay is if they’re traumatized and even then they are disgusting and shouldn’t be that way. Coming out would be dangerous, and were I not legally an adult I’m certain if he found out I would’ve been sent to conversion camp where I probably would’ve killed myself.

I was in college, but the combination of going to school and taking care of my drunken father made me have several mental breakdowns and made my depression worse. It was a struggle to even get to a therapist because my father didn’t think there was anything wrong with me. It’s impossible for me to complete school while I’m living with him. My grades suffered, my mental health hit an all time low, I was actively self harming and doing everything but kill myself. stopped eating and lost lots of weight in short periods of time, I cut myself, I cried myself to sleep, I isolated myself. Some semesters I would be able to keep my grades up but most of the time I inevitably would hit a point where I couldn’t even bring myself to get out of bed. My father, again, was completely oblivious about what his habits were doing to me, and repeatedly yelled at me for my bad grades and drunkenly threatened to disown me more than once. I hit a standstill in my therapy sessions. I was unable to make any further progress because my depression is now entirely environmental. It is literally impossible for me to make any kind of progress in my life unless I get away from him. My sister is an adult now, and if things go south when I’m gone she’ll be able to stay with a close family friend, or with our aunt who is completely accepting of the LGBT community and doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.

My father is entirely emotionally reliant on me and uses me as his emotional dumpster. He’s a high functioning alcoholic so he holds a job and no one there suspects what he’s actually like. I don’t think any of his coworkers would believe me if I told them what I had to deal with unless they saw it himself. He doesn’t go out with friends, and he refuses to see therapists because he is in complete denial, so I’m the one he unloads all of his issues onto. If I mention that I’m even a little unhappy he immediately takes offense to it, and the conversation will turn into me reassuring him that he’s a great parent, and end with him getting drunk. Even though I am an adult if I told him I wanted to move out he would do everything he could to make sure I don’t. Moving out shouldn’t be an issue at all, but it is going to cause an enormous rift in my family, and I have no idea how he will react. He may get violent, he may threaten me, the situation is too unpredictable.

I’ve worked myself into a bind. I took a semester off to take care of my father after he had the stroke, and after that semester the Excelsior scholarship went into place. My father told me to take it since it lets me get a free ride and we can’t afford school without it. I had time to look it over, but my sister already accepted it. After reading the fine print I noticed that if I take the scholarship then I’m legally obligated to live in my state for four years after finishing school. I can’t live here and stay with my father, who doesn’t want me to move out for another four years. I don’t know what I’d do to myself if I had to, so I dropped out. I haven’t told him because it would cause a shitshow the likes of which has never been seen, but I can only keep that under wraps for so long. I’m supposed to “graduate” next year, and being on his insurance requires me to show proof that I’m a full time student. I’ll be found out and suffer the consequences no matter what.

Despite all of this I’m currently dating an amazing woman two states away. I plan on moving in with her by early September at the latest. I’m working part time whenever I can while keeping up the ruse that I’m still in school and trying to save as much money as I can to get out of here. When I finally tell my father that I’m moving out and there’s nothing he can do, again, I have no idea how he’ll react. It might be violent, he may send people after me to try and bring me back home, it will definitely involve drinking, but despite that I need to get out of here. I expect the family that are trying to help my father to try and make me stay and change my mind despite the fact they’re generally well intentioned. When I move out I’m expecting zero support from my family. I have friends that will help me out as well, but it’s going to be a very difficult year for me, and I don’t know what my father or my family will do after I move. I don’t expect them to leave me alone even after I leave.

In addition to probably needing to cover a small U haul van, I’m also trying to change my name once I leave, mostly because it’s the name I’m most comfortable with, and also because I don’t want my family to be able to find me once I’m out of state. Any donations would help me and it’ll all be going into my savings until it’s time for me to leave, which will probably be in 2-4 months with how things are going at home. Thank you for reading, and if you can’t or don’t want to donate then please boost this post. I’m accepting donations via paypal but I also do tarot readings on Etsy if you’re more comfortable with that!

paypal.me/DEV7777 https://www.etsy.com/shop/BenthicOracle

#signal boost #boost #donation #donation post #alcohlism #abuse #suicidal ideation

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opaldisaster · 3 years

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What Happens to a Diagnosis Deferred?

All week my mind has been running around in circles. After weeks of waiting for a psych eval that would finally confirm and address my theory about being misdiagnosed. I had the realization that I don’t HAVE depression, I AM depressed and what I really have is ADHD. I spent hours and days researching, soul searching and calling therapist offices to see how soon I could get an official diagnosis. I was certain. Then I saw my therapists, back to back, one day after the other and received deeply differing results. The first was a long, tedious venture across SoCal to go see the only doctor covered by my insurance who wasn’t booked until July. I told this man my life’s story, from childhood to more recent trauma, condensed into an hour-long session. All so he could come to the conclusion that “it sounds like you have depression, but your history is too grey to tell”. Apparently I’m too complex for a clear cut diagnosis on the spot. He gives me instructions for a follow up test to look into things further. Inconclusive, disheartening, but a pretty realistic outcome.

Meanwhile, a day later, I talk to another old man who knows very little about me despite prescribing me controlled substances for the past 4 months. From the convenience of my messy bedroom, I talk into a glowing screen for 15 minutes. And after mentioning the phrases “hard to concentrate” and “trouble focusing”, I’m reassured that he will prescribe me with a stimulant once I come off my SSRIs in about a month. Simple, easy, yet requires patience.

So what do I do? Wait a month for an overworked psychiatrist to look at my charts for 5 minutes then prescribe me with a\Adderall. Or mail in a self evaluation changing the answers to make sure I get the right results for a rigged test? Neither is ideal or particularly healthy, but cheating on exams is the only thing that helped me graduate high school during desperate times. And these are definitely desperate times. The system fucked me, so I’m gonna fuck it right back. I definitely know better than these two strangers who have no idea what it’s like to live in my skin. They’re not necessarily quacks, but they certainly aren’t what I’d call experts either. Medical bias is tricky and full of red tape. The only way out is with money or cheating. I choose cheating.

#therapy #mental health #mentalheathawareness

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seesarahaccomplishstuff · 3 years

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Therapy today helped a bit.

I told my therapist how I’ve been having intense breakdowns since Monday and haven’t been doing okay.

She asked what happened and I told her how I thought the childhood stuff wouldn’t bother me because it was so long ago, but it’s so frustrating to see how much my parents fucked me up. And now there’s this huge list of ways I’m broken that won’t stop growing. And it’s my entire personality. And more people are leaving and that triggered my anxiety, and someone that I’m trying to trust massively crossed a boundary that made my rejection issues even worse.

So she nodded and said “you have a lot to work on. And you really jumped all into it, which is really great, but you’re going to feel like you’re losing for a while. It’s going to overwhelm you a lot. And it’s going to feel easier to lock yourself in your room and off yourself.” (Which I didn’t expect her to say, but she’s right) So I said, “I just don’t fully see the point in trying to fix 30 years of broken.”

“What’s wrong with your personality?” “It’s all fucked up. Everything I do is codependent.” “Sure. Give me an example.” And I couldn’t think of one offhand, so I said, “the thing I realized the other day was I do something for someone because I care right? Which is fine. But also when people are stressed about their situation they get mad. And when that happens I get snapped at and shoved away. So I help to avoid that too I think.”

She was not sold on that. “You used to buy dinner for friends a lot. You did that so you wouldn’t get in trouble?” “No. I did it because I like when people do nice things for me and they don’t always make sure they can eat so I do it so they feel cared about and are healthy.” “That’s just being kind. When you would pay a bill for them they typically pay it right back. So is that codependent?” “No. They need help so I help and they pay it back.” “The times you did it when you didn’t have money to spare. (Which I argued and she called me out lol) The times you let them blow off repaying- that was codependent. You do have a lot of codependent tendencies. But kindness is inherently codependent. You can’t rip apart any time you’ve shown someone kindness. Your biggest codependency issue is not holding boundaries for yourself.”

“You need to repeat the phrase ‘People treat you the way you’ve taught them to treat you’.” “My friend used to say that to me at least once a week.” “Yea well, they’re smart and we’ve covered that you needed to listen to what they’d tell you more than you did. You also need to remember that you don’t control other’s emotions. And other people don’t control yours.”

“People think you’re manipulative and controlling. That’s what they’ve taken from your behavior. You can’t control that. You know it’s not what you intended. You know you’ve been improving for many months. I know you have. But you made them feel a certain way and their opinions didn’t change. You can look at that and acknowledge it and re-examine your behavior like you are. But you can’t change their minds. And their feelings don’t make you that person. So fixating on it doesn’t get you anywhere.”

And then she asked me if I was doing all of this for me or them and I told her I’m having a hard time prioritizing myself. That it pisses me off when people pull the “great pain means great growth. You’ll look back and smile” bullshit. Because the way this feels is terrible and I hate it. So, I know I can’t change anyone’s view of me, but I’m doing all this to try and be who I wanted to be for people who had to leave because of my behavior. And she accepted that.

I also have to start some EDM... pretty sure it’s 4 letters. It’s something to work through past trauma. She said she’d send videos to watch. My alanon group leader asked if she did that sort of thing last week so I guess that’s just where we are. Wait lol... edm is music lemme actually Google the acronym so I seem less ignorant. EMDR, damn dyslexia. Anyway. That.

But basically, I need to really work to not shred myself when I’m low. It’s gotten bad. I also need to start on my books that came yesterday. 2/3 are here. She wants me to try and list my codependent behaviors. I also need to start painting and journaling again. I like this outlet and it’s easiest for my brain, but the way I was doing it all in my watercolor notebook was really therapeutic. It’s just been a bitch of a week.

I’ll be fine and I feel less like having a breakdown or dying. I think I know another thing that is really fucking with me through everything, but I don’t feel comfortable posting it here right now I think. I also can’t do anything about it.

Last night in alanon a woman said “when one door closes another one opens, but the hallway is hell.” And like, yea. Fuck dude. I took a psych class once where the teacher had a gazillion psych type degrees and would open the class with us getting to ask about mental health shit. And one kid asked if it was possible to change personalities. And he said “sure, but you usually see it following a trauma where it rewrites your thought processes. Because it’s hell to do otherwise, and a lot of people can’t handle it.” And I get it now. I thought he meant habits and comfort zones. But it feels like being handed a pile of shards that used to be your brain and given a timelimit to reassemble it. But half the pieces are trauma copies and you have to figure out which parts are imposters, but they actually fit better than the pieces that should be there. And if you fail you lose everything.

Anyway, that’s where I am today. I queued a couple posts last night so you might see random downers, but what I’m thinking of doing is only reblogging positive stuff, and queueing negative stuff that resonated for like, 7am. And I say that because sometimes I rescroll my blog to recount the day or previous day to either feel good with the good posts again or reevaluate the things I’ve said the day before. Since with my mood they don’t always apply still or I may have a totally different approach at that thought. And I do that when I go to bed around 2. So at 7 I won’t be seeing negative shit right before bed. Cuz I’ve fallen asleep and woken up bitter the last few days.

We’ll see. I have lots to do today. I’ve been off twitter so no children have reminded me to do my taxes. I also have to get a new phone today so I’m fully out from under my mother. And I have insurance stuff and inspection cleaning to tackle. It’s only 1 and I’m ready to call it a day.

I hope what my therapist said helps anyone else who is struggling. I like hearing the lines that have stuck with patients and really helped them. So when it doesn’t fuck with me I’d like to be open about what I discuss in therapy. I always used to think it’d solve so many of my problems if I could send my friends zoom links of my sessions since I’m so bad at expressing myself lol. So this is also a bit of an exercise for me to be more outspoken about my feelings (if this bothers anyone you can send an anonymous ask) And therapy isn’t accessible to everyone so maybe it gives someone what they need to go forward a bit in their struggles. (Alanon and CoDa are free and on zoom now though! Definitely look into it if it applies to you!)

There’s a line in a bts song. Idk which one honestly, Ik it’s in the BE photo book though I can post a pic. It comes to mind because my friend would write it a lot when they first heard it. And it’s something like “sometimes we get to know that broken is beautiful”. My therapist today said “you are broken, everyone is. And no one is as broken as they think they are.” I hope one day this feels like a beautiful moment in my life and not the purgatory it feels like. I hope I grow enough for it to be worth it.

#4/15 #alanon #coda #codependency #growth #Thursday therapy #pmdd #motivation #broken #hope

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onlyherefortheshowmances · 4 years

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TW: Mental Health

I have a lot of mental health issues. My main diagnosis is Bipolar (type II). I also have CPTSD (stemming from physical and mental abuse for the first 6 years of my life at the hands of my biological father and continued emotional abuse/manipulation by my mother afterwards). I also have Borderline Personality Disorder which is a trauma-response related disorder that basically means it’s more difficult for me to regulate my emotions than most people. I’m prone to meltdowns when angry or upset. I also have panic disorder, social anxiety, and generalized anxiety disorder. It took a lot of years to finally figure out what is wrong with me, but even knowing what’s wrong doesn’t mean there’re answers. Sure, I’m on meds, but they don’t really work. I see a therapist, but it doesn’t really help. Everything just furthers my abilities to hide my emotions entirely. To never say what I’m actually thinking. To never be allowed to exist in my true state.

I’m also physically disabled, but no one will believe just how much pain I’m in. I’ve gotten good at hiding that because what’s the bother if no one will believe me anyway. I’ve been in pain since I was 14 (2005). My freshman year of high school. Everything has gotten progressively worse to the point where walking more than a couple blocks is next to impossible. I used to be able to walk miles and miles with no problem, but that’s just not possible any more. A flight of stairs does me in, too.

In my early 20s a doctor finally listened enough to x-ray my knee, but the x-ray was normal, so they just gave me prescription strength naproxen (Aleve) and sent me on my way. Three years ago (2017), my knee was acting up and my family doctor finally gave me a referral to sports medicine. They took xrays and were able to see osteoarthritis in my joint this time. They had me do physical therapy which just gave me more pain and more reason/ability to pretend there wasn’t any. They also gave me a cortisone injection.

2 years ago (2018), I tore something in my right shoulder. It took an excruciating 2 months of physical therapy before I even got to see orthopedics. The first orthopedic doctor I saw, basically shrugged me off. He did a cortisone injection in my shoulder which made it worse. I requested a second opinion and finally found a doctor that would order imaging of the shoulder even though the physical therapist put in her notes that it should be MRI’d because of the symptomology following therapy. I had surgery in December for a tare that happened in June. I suffered through 9 months (including the 3 months of recovery after surgery) for something that could have been over in half that time if doctors would have just listened when I went to urgent care the day it happened. At my surgery follow up the doctor remarked that the inside of my shoulder looks like I’m at least in my 70s and that my rotator cuff is also slightly torn and will likely eventually need repaired.

It wasn’t until this year (2020); literally 15 years after the pain started, that I found a single doctor that would take me seriously. He finally ran blood work beyond the regular stuff and I’ve since been diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, but because the x-rays of my hands and feet look normal, it’s not “aggressive” and I’m just on meds. I still don’t have pain meds or muscle relaxers even though that’s all I want. I’m still not disabled enough.

The medical care I require is not cheap. Especially not when the insurance my employer offers has $60 co-pays for every specialty visit. My prescriptions cost $50+ per month even with insurance. My therapist is $45 per session which I can only afford every 3 or 4 weeks even though I should definitely be going more often. My psychiatrist is $50 per visit and he wants to see me monthly when he changes anything. I have to see rheumatology ($60 per visit) every 6 weeks for conceivably forever. I had to have a special eye exam ($105 total) every year and new classes are $50+ every year because you know my eyesight has to be complete shit on top of everything else, too.

I also have to live alone; in part because of my mental health condition and in part because I don’t have anywhere else to go. So, I have to pay my bills all on my own, too.

I’ve had a lot of jobs in my 29 ½ years of life.

I worked at Wal-mart in High School (2007-2009). I was a cashier first and then worked in the clothing department. I was fired because they refused to accept my doctor’s note absences even though their company policy says they should have. I got unemployment.

I did odd jobs in college (2009-2012). I was a tour guide for open house once a month which was probably my favorite job. I very briefly worked in the dining hall, but my mental health couldn’t take that for more than a couple weeks. Mostly my grandfather supported me through those three years until I had to leave school. I made it through 3 years of the social work program to realize my mental health wasn’t cut out for that profession. I didn’t have the money for 3 more years to get a different degree, so I left. Always with the intention that I’d go back some day, but I’ve never actually made it and now with the state of me, probably never will.

I worked at the Amazon Warehouse for the grand amount of 2 weeks after I left school (June 2012). I had a panic attack trying to do high levels on the order picker and didn’t have a psychiatrist to write an accommodation letter at the time, so I had no choice but to leave.

I then worked at Target (but for Radio Shack) selling contract cell phones (July 2012-. I enjoyed that job well enough, but it became physically taxing (standing for umpteen hours on end). It was that job that got me to transfer back to my city from where my grandfather lived. I lived with a roommate for a year. She no longer speaks to me because of a whole laundry list of misunderstandings (mostly my mental health).

After Target, I worked at CVS as a Pharmacy Tech. I think that was the job I had the longest before my current one. It was that job that lead to my first hospitalization(s) for mental health. When I finally had to leave (for my mental health), I was unemployed and essentially homeless for almost a year and then I had county funding to get a room for another year and lived off food stamps and medical assistance.

During that time, I met Shawn. He was the saving grace I needed to get out of what I thought would be the darkest time of my life.

I managed to get my anxiety under control enough to get a job again. I was a mail carrier for 7 months (May-December 2016). I lost that job again due to my mental health. I was hypomanic (the upswing of Bipolar II) and made a careless driving decision. I was then unemployed for 4 months (until April 2017). But I was living with Shawn at that time and everything seemed fine.

I then ended up working in the laundry room at the hospital for a few months (April-July 2017). I ended up needing to quit that job because my physical paid started getting too much to handle and I got tendonitis in my wrist. But during that time Shawn broke off our engagement and I restarted therapy (with my current therapist). We’ve always still been best friends. We’ve still done things together; in fact I moved into the spare bedroom and continued to live there for over a year after.

I started my next job a week after leaving the hospital. I was a receptionist at a major dental practice (July 2017-March 2018) until their company policies went to shit and I had to find a new job for my own sanity.

I started my current job on April 9, 2018. I work in Revenue Cycle for a group of dental practices doing mostly insurance billing and claims follow up. I moved into an apartment by myself in September 2018 and live there until August of this year. I recently moved into a new apartment (August 2020).

The past year has however been a living hell.

On October 24, 2019, Shawn died. I don’t want to go into details of how, but it wasn’t directly intentional, but he knew there was a risk in his actions that lead to the death.

It’s been year. Nothing’s gotten better. Everything is still broken. Everything still hurts. I’m only better at pretending. I don’t want to live in this world anymore. Intensive Mental health programs only make things worse (inpatient and intensive outpatient alike) and make me hide even more because I need to get out. I can’t handle it.

I need to quit my job. For my mental and physical health. I can’t handle it anymore. Especially not working from home like I’ve had to since June because of COVID. I don’t think another job would be any better. Maybe for a couple months, but then the same problems would happen again. I just can’t commit to doing something every single day. Not with my mental or physical health. But I can’t quit because I have bills to pay. I can’t get disability because I’m currently working and you can’t be working or have savings to get disability. You basically have to be homeless or live with someone that supports you completely to get it. So basically, I have no way out and I’m stuck in a perpetual hellscape.

#TW: Mental Health

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mental-health-advice · 4 years

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Submission About Seeking Therapy

Hello! So I actually have a few things (apologies in advance, both for length— had to take out some context due to length restriction— and it kind of being all over the place)

Context: I’ve been trying to get help and my university’s counselling centre keeps rejecting me (the reason can be oversimplified into: overbooked + they think I’m “well off”), so I’ve been doing “unofficial sessions” with counsellors (for example, a walk-in pairs you randomly with the first available counsellor and is typically for something minor. Everything is confidential, but it’s unofficial and all that) as I didn’t have access to other options as I can’t drive (due to medical reasons and, due to this area, no means for transportation at the time. I can’t afford something like Uber and there’s no public transportation) and my insurance didn’t really taking any online/virtual sessions (and the places that take my insurance didn’t do video appointment). Now, due to it being summer (and the virus), I have more options (e.g., insurance now covers videos appointments, as long as they’re from a place that takes my insurance, and relatives willing to drive me places)…although my privacy not being respected (by relatives) is an issue for virtual therapy.During the “unofficial sessions”, the counsellors (multiple) suggested I bring up the possibility of having a personality disorder (+ some possible [autism] spectrum-y stuff) due to some red flags (constantly wearing a mask, inability to feel guilt, lack of compassion, sympathy and empathy, unable to read emotional cues, unconcerned for the feelings of others and inability to “determine” them and only caring for social norms, rules and obligations to avoid certain negative consequences). If I do have a personality disorder, I don’t really want to “treat” it (it has benefits), but there are a few things I would like help coping with (e.g., wearing a “mask” constantly is draining, but my personality without it doesn’t really get along with society and can cause major issues, and how to interact with people during those times I can’t “recharge” by being alone and the mask is cracking)…if that makes sense. Also, if I do have one, I can see a diagnosis/label being useful.

I also have trauma (unlikely to be classified as PTSD though; I don’t meet the DMS criteria. Also doesn’t fit CPTSD. To clarify: I’m not saying to negate it or minimise it or anything like that. I’m stating it more for context) from about 6 years of emotional and verbal abuse (with the occasional threat involving things like finances and, once I was an adult, getting kicked out as well as “minor” physical aggressions like slamming doors— never got physically hurt from it or anything like that which is part of the reason nobody did anything despite constantly trying to get help) from mother’s boyfriend and I would like to see if I can get help with it now that I’ve escaped into a healthier environment (escaped the ending of November when I was kicked out. Currently staying with grandparents). Also, occasionally, when I interact with certain people (e.g., therapists who aren’t for me), I get “negative pleasure” (not sure how to describe. Not an emotion. Interactions are just…draining. Usually they’re “neutral”; I don’t get any “positive” or “negative” from interactions…is that makes any sense?) from interactions (with everyone) for a good while of alone time to recover (last time it was one or two months)

Questions: - Any tips for privacy if I do virtual therapy when relatives don’t respect boundaries (no matter what I do/say and I’ve tried/said a lot)? (Not as important as I can wait until in-person sessions and a relative can drive me. Plus the place I plan on going to might not do video appointments) - How many sessions should I give the therapist before deciding if I need a new one/they’re “incompatible” (assuming they’re don’t say/do something that’s a flag of sorts)? - How do I cope, if needed, with the “negative pleasure” (to give the new therapist a fair chance)? - When and how should I go about bring up the different things (trauma, possible personality disorder and etc) to the therapist?

(Please tag as: ⭐︎)

Hey there!

Thank you for your submission, I hope that I’m able to give you some advice on this. It sounds as if you’ve had a time of it trying to seek out some proper professional help, but I think it’s great you’re trying despite everything that seems to be in the way for you. From your unofficial therapy sessions, it seems the therapists think there might be a diagnosis to make there. I think that if you feel comfortable, discussing this with your doctor might be a good idea. Getting a diagnosis does not mean you have to medicate anything, but having a doctor talk through with you all your options and the pros and cons of each could help you make a well informed decisions about what is best for you. And I think that’s the most important thing at the moment. I’ll just number each questions as I’m answering as you have 4 separate ones, just to make things a bit clearer for you!

1. Privacy in this time is tricky, as we’re all cooped up at home, many of us with family or partners or friends. I had to call my doctor recently, and my mum is quite nosy and would listen in if I told her and I didn’t want her to just walk in and I hadn’t told her I was calling the doctors, so I went for a walk! I used the consulting software on my phone, and walked while I video chatted. Somewhere quiet of course, but this is the great thing with it being a video call - you can do it from anywhere! If you can’t leave the house for your countries current restrictions, there are a couple of things you could potentially do. One, put some music on in your room at a reasonable volume so you can still hear, maybe some speakers next to the door, so family can’t listen in. Also, therapists are aware at the moment there are certain things people wont want to say while at home because of this reason, so there might be a a chat box where you can type things instead, or your therapist may ask you yes or no questions so you can narrow it down. They’ll have had some experience of this by now, so likely they can also talk you through how to deal with this.

2. With regards to how many sessions you give someone, it’s really like asking how long is a piece of string. I guess it depends on the nature of the sessions you’re given. When I went for counselling through my university, I only had 6 sessions. For some, weekly sessions are indefinite and are for as long as they are needed. If you have 6 weeks like I did, for me it didn’t make sense to change therapist as it was such a short amount of time I felt I wouldn’t get much from changing at any point. Honestly, there’s no definite answer to this. Try and approach your therapy sessions with as open a mind as possible - they’re trained and there to help you. If there’s a certain thing that they do that you don’t like, or something that they say which upset you in any way, try your best to be open and let them know. Generally, I wouldn’t stay for too long with someone who you don’t think is giving you any benefit or helping you deal with your issues - it does take a couple of weeks I found to get into some kind of dynamic and understand their ways of working, and if you were incompatible I would think that you’d tell sooner rather than later.

3. For dealing with this negative pleasure, I’m not sure I fully understand what you’re describing, I’m not sure if it’s the way it’s been worded but I think what I’m getting from it is that from dealing with particular people, you sometimes prefer the negative dynamic as opposed to the neutral one? And that you want to try and be as receptive as possible to new therapists? If this is wrong just follow up and let me know if I haven’t answered your question! I would again say that honesty and openness with your therapist is key - you could let them know from the start about this feeling you sometimes have, and maybe they could talk through certain things that would make you turn into this emotion so they can avoid it as best they can. Perhaps taking some time to reflect after each session and evaluating how you feel, how your therapist communicated, how you communicated, what went well and what you didn’t like (and why) could help give you a better perspective on the situation, and can also help in general process the discussions had in therapy.

4. I would say that when you are in therapy, one of the first things after a get to know you session is typically what brings you to therapy and what you want to get from it. This is a great importunity to explain from your unofficial sessions your therapists thought that there might be a personality disorder, and that you have dealt with some trauma in the past also. The first session being so open and upfront with a therapist can be uncomfortable, but it really helps lay foundations for productive sessions in the future. You of course don’t have to dive in to every detail of your trauma session one, and if you’re feeling uncomfortable about certain topics or details for the moment - communicate that! Therapist will slowly guided you toward conversations at a pace that;s good for you, and if you think it’s too fast or too much at once you can just say ‘I don’t feel ready to talk about that in detail yet.’ The therapist is there for you at the end of the day, and is there to help you talk through what it is you need to.

I hope that this has answered all your questions - sorry it’s a bit lengthy! This however is just my advice from my own experience, so feel free to take on board or ignore anything I’ve said based on how well it related to you. I hope you manage to secure yourself some therapy, and are able to work through some of your issues.

Take Care,

Hollie x

#mhahollie #advice #advice blog #mental health advice #therapy #professional diagnosis #seeing a professional #coronavirus #personality disorder #trauma #⭐︎

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profitablepractices · 4 years

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Money, Honey: How to Get a Good Biller for Your Private Pay Therapy Practice

Money, Honey: How to Get a Good Biller for Your Private Pay Therapy Practice

Therapists are known for our incredible “people skills”. Our number skills? Maybe not so much. Even if you are fortunate enough to be great with numbers, you still might prefer to free yourself from the day-to-day responsibility of staying on top of patient billing so that you can focus on the actual therapy aspect of your private pay therapy practice. When I first started my practice, I did everything including the billing-- but I quickly found that by having a biller, I was able to find the time and energy to invest more in things like getting private pay clients and taking great care of the clients I already had. Like many therapists, I like working with clients on their therapy issues MUCH better than I like dealing with billing. Investing my time directly in the therapy visit rather than focusing my energy on the billing for each visit actually made me happier, and resulted in a better bottom line for my practice since the revenue I generated in just one private pay client visit was easily more than enough to pay for a week of billing services. It was a very simple choice for me: spend more time on billing paperwork and make less money; or spend less time on billing paperwork and actually make more money to further build my private pay therapy practice.

Clients loved my addition of a professional biller too, since we no longer had to discuss “admin stuff” like billing. It was easier for them to see me as the psychology expert I am rather than seeing me as their therapist and the “billing department”. Billers also help private pay clients to use their out of network benefits, which is actually difficult for many busy clients who are able to afford private pay. Although I’m out-of-network with insurance companies, many of my private pay clients have “Cadillac insurance policies” with great out of network benefits. The only snag is that the clients with executive positions and the great benefits that go with those positions are often too busy with their own professional obligations to get bogged down with a mountain of insurance paperwork to get reimbursements for therapy visits; so they don’t even factor in the insurance reimbursement when they evaluate your private pay fees. Making it a simple, seamless process for private pay therapy clients to get their out of network insurance benefits often cuts their out-of-pocket expense for sessions by 50-80%, which makes clients feel much more comfortable with a higher private pay therapy session fee than they would feel if they had to shoulder the entire burden themselves.

Although I'm now extremely happy with my biller, I must admit that I encountered several expensive, time consuming, and frankly heart-breaking lessons along the way to “biller heaven”. I’d like to share them with you so that you can avoid making the same mistakes I made. Here are some questions to ask as you interview billers for your private pay therapy practice:

1. Who owns my billing data; and would you be willing to work within my billing software account rather than yours?

Many billers will offer to “spare you the trouble” of setting up your own billing software and just manage your accounts from within their own master account at a billing software provider. While this may sound tempting in the short term, I advise you to make have YOUR OWN account so you can easily LOCK YOUR BILLER OUT and switch billers quickly and easily if there is ever a need for you to do so. This way, YOU OWN AND CONTROL THE DATA rather than being beholden to your biller. OfficeAlly is an excellent and FREE HIPAA-compliant billing software that lets you run credit cards, submit claims to insurance companies for patients to facilitate their out of network benefits, issue patient statements, and meets all other standard billing needs. You can set up OfficeAlly in about an hour.

2. Will you check benefits for my prospective private pay therapy patients? If yes, how often and how quickly?

Checking benefits is a great perk to offer your private pay client inquiries. When they ask how much your services cost, it helps to be able to tell them their estimated out of pocket cost which is going to be less than your full fee, if the client has out of network benefits (don't worry, you will still get your full private pay fee since the client's insurance company will pay the balance!). To be able to provide potential private pay theapy clients with this information, someone needs to look up benefits. This is sometimes as quick as punching some numbers into a website such as Availity.com, and sometimes requires a phone call to the insurance company. Either way, it helps to ask the biller about this while the biller is in “sales mode” trying to win your business. Many billers do not check benefits; or they say they check benefits but they actually take 1-2 days to complete a lookup, by which point your prospective private pay therapy client may have moved on. Best to set expectations early and while you have the leverage of “shopping” for a biller. Also find out if they’re willing to speak to your private pay therapy clients directly about benefits or if they’d rather relay it through you. I have found that demurring “talk to my biller” whenever questions about my fees arise is very liberating.

3. What are my exit options?

In an ideal world, you and your biller would stay “together forever and ever”. In the real world, this is unlikely. I’ve known many private pay therapists who unwittingly signed agreements where they had to pay a $2,000 early cancellation fee if they ended the billing relationship prior to a yearlong period of service. Many billers may try to argue for this by saying that they invest time and effort to “onboard you” and they need to make it worth their while. I advise you to push back. Tell them that you are also investing in them, and that you have every intention of remaining for many years if the relationship works well; but the idea that you must commit to a year of billing with someone before you even know how smooth the process will be is just not feasible for your business. I’ve been with my biller now for years, and we have a fantastic working relationship; but there was no way I could have felt certain of this before actually working with her (especially after some of the billing nightmares I encountered before finally finding her!). You may like the person who does the sales call with you, but the person actually handling your account is different, or the service is great at first but then worsens as they get other clients they are prioritizing over you, or any other myriad reasons why things might not work out quite as planned. Give yourself the power to walk away if you’re not satisfied.

4. How often can we have a regularly scheduled “check in call”?

Have a REGULARLY scheduled phone meeting with your biller, and be “on the same page” regarding past due accounts. I have a weekly phone meeting with my biller where we review any billing issues, including any therapy clients who are past due. You may not need to talk quite that frequently, but determine in advance of signing a contract how often you’ll have your regularly scheduled calls. Do NOT depend on your biller to just phone you up and tell you who is past due. A good biller will and should do this, but then again we all get busy and your biller may have an assistant who “forgot” to tell you. “Trust but verify” is your mantra here. It is EASY to run a 1-minute report in OfficeAlly or similar software that tells you a LIST of anyone whose bill is past due, and the total of your past due accounts; and to set the report to spotlight anyone who is more than 60 days past due. Having your standard past due numbers is incredibly helpful because you have an “early warning system” if the number starts creeping higher. It was also super helpful to me one particular time when starting with a new biller who tried to say it was “normal” to have “a certain amount” of past due accounts and she was “diligently working on them”. I was able to easily show her that the levels of past due accounts weren’t “normal” for MY practice because I had records of my normal past due figures. I know numbers are daunting, but this is ten minutes well spent: each week, run your past due report in OfficeAlly or wherever your billing records are; and have that report in front of you for your quick weekly call with your biller (or monthly or whatever you do-- monthly is a minimum). Figure 60 seconds to run the report, and 5-10 minutes for the call. Bonus points if you email the report to the biller before the call as a way to structure things.

5. Can we add into your contract that you will NOT work with any of my current or former employees for a certain period of time? If not, WHY NOT?

This might be shocking, but I actually once had a biller who contacted MY OWN EMPLOYEES behind my back to ask if she could do billing for them to help them jumpstart their own private pay therapy practices. The conflict of interest was obvious to everyone but her.

If you want more information on how to vet a biller, or referrals to billers, or if you have any other questions about how to succeed in private practice, please do join my on-demand video program here you can enjoy an information-rich community with smart private pay therapists like you and me! You will learn everything you need to know in order to attract, book, and retain more private pay therapy clients and build your private pay therapy practice. By the way: Even if you’re not planning to join my program, I may be able to provide you with a referral to a decent biller- feel free to ask me.

#biller private practice therapy practice private practice management business tips

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dcnativegal · 6 years

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It is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability -- and that it may take a very long time. (de Chardin)

My mind, my heart, is awake and brave.

I do not know my mind and heart as separated. I know myself, through a glass, darkly. Physician, heal thyself, applies to me, although I’m a mere social worker.

Today I am all about metaphors and clichés.

I have been about healing myself since I sought out psychotherapy in the 10th grade: I was the first self-referred adolescent anyone could remember at that public clinic in DC. I have been healing the betrayal of a limited and dangerous faith, Christian Science, since that morning I discovered that my grandmother was cold and stiff in her bed at the age of 65, dead from preventable causes. I went on to school that day, after telling my little sister to go tell Mom that Nana had died. I was 15. It was that year, 1975, that I called Bullshit on how I’d been raised. I started in earnest to separate the wheat of the many gifts and legacies I was given, from the chaff of illness, limitation, cruelty, which grew up right alongside.

Apparently, it’s a lifetime pursuit.

One thing about moving to so radically different a physical location (DC to Paisley) is that the usual thoughts and routines were stripped from my consciousness and I was plopped down as if by helicopter into a new world. I’m still learning where I am, physically. I’m still discerning the subtleties of Eastern Oregon etiquette. I am not known, yet, not very deeply, so I have settled into a now familiar loneliness. Nevermind “Question Authority”. I question everything. What I knew Before, without thinking a whole lot about it, floods in and fills up the spaces that had been stripped by the new environment, flooding in like the water does after an underwater earthquake. Past memories pull away, so strangely. And then flood back in a tsunami.

Which is why what I’ve been writing since I got to the Oregon Outback feels like memoir. My awareness is filled with the Before, alternating with The Brand New. It makes my brain full to overflowing. Some evenings, I go to bed at 7pm. I dream of cities.

For the past month or more, I have felt tears very close to the surface, multiple times a day, and they spill over if I let them.

Because…

· I have been living in this skin for almost six decades

· I am well trained and broadly experienced as a clinical social worker for three decades

· And I am familiar enough with my own experience as a client in psychotherapy…

I know that something is up. I am living in the midst of not knowing what it is. Which I can actually tolerate, although I do so hate crying at the beginning of a work day because part of my brain is just mush after that.

I had a big cry at the beginning of a work day recently. I noticed later in the day, that I was looser and more open with my clients, a bit braver with my questions of them, a bit more tuned in. I also had to monitor myself in a different way that the usual self-monitoring. I had to see if my inner turmoil was skewing the session, more than usual. A big part of being a psychotherapist is working to keep my shit from contaminating their shit. Or maybe I could pick a nicer metaphor. How about I keep my water colors inside myself, and let them paint their own picture with their water colors.

A recent Sunday morning’s tears came from the embarrassment and frustration of psyching myself up to go to the Catholic Church up the hill from my house for the first time here in Paisley, dressing up just a bit for the occasion, only to find that once again I have miscounted which Sunday it is. This parish meets 1st and 3rd Sundays. And it was Fourth Sunday. Dammit.

I deeply hunger for church. I feel guilty for feeling so needy about the comfort of church. The Episcopal Book of Common Prayer puts it this way: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”

I hunger for all of it: solace, strength, pardon, AND renewal.

Valerie and I are beginning to be recognized at the Episcopal Church in Bend because we’ve been there more than once, and we are greeted with smiles of recognition. I’ve enjoyed the Episcopal flavor of Eucharist in Coos Bay, Reno, Nevada, Eugene, Salem, and Lakeview, who’s parishioners you can count on two hands. I’ve hung with the Lutherans, Quakers and the UUs in Klamath Falls and the Methodists in Fort Klamath.

I went to Paisley Community Church the weekend before my attempted Catholic crashing, for the first time in 4 months. It is such a lovely building, with the big bell that gets rung by a child at 9:30am every Sunday. I see familiar faces and they smile back at me. By now, I know half the congregation by name. I hear prayers and concerns, announcements. We sing songs with the words projected stage left from the altar, and some of them I recognize. How Great Thou Art made an appearance. Not a favorite, but I knew it.

What killed me was the sermon. It was preached in what Valerie explained to me is a typical evangelical style, not planned out, but extemporaneous, so the “Holy Spirit” can edge in there. How I received it was, well, negatively. I was not tuned into his channel. Especially when I hear the name Jezebel, and talk of watching out for the Devil, after weeks of #Metoo, as millions of women reveal they, too, have been sexually harassed or assaulted. I was not having it.

I’d much rather watch out for God than the Devil. I do not go to church to find God but to share God, as Alice Walker points out In the Color Purple. I couldn’t share. The sermon was a sincerely delivered, garbled mess, as far as I could discern. It left me bereft.

What I hunger for is a story. Tell me a story.

I also hunger for familiarity, because familiarity triggers the epic mystery of ritual. After 40 years of the Collect for Purity, I weep from the missing of it:

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I feel better just reading this aloud.

I am trying to remain as open as I can to the spiritual gift of new challenges, including evangelical preaching. Among my questions: how to remain open without pulling a muscle? I seek spiritual nourishment and I am starving. I’m going to seek out the Catholics. At least the liturgy is familiar.

I’m met with a brand spanking new psychotherapist for the first time in October, in Bend. I’ve decided that a monthly, rigorous archeological expedition of my psyche would be good. I miss my former therapist, The Wizard, who never failed to leave me feeling better and more functional after 50 minutes with her. But the three phone calls we’ve had since my move west are just not enough. I need the in-person three-dimensional interaction.

It always feels a little scary to see a new therapist. I can relate even better to my clients’ experience when they first see me: they must wonder who the hell this woman is who wants to know such personal stuff. I was going to be picky in selecting a new therapist, and I asked for recommendations. Then I checked what’s covered by my insurance, and looked to see if LGBT is on their list of interests. Not that being queer is an issue for me now, but I so don’t want it to be an issue for my therapist because if it is, her water colors will most definitely smear into mine. I don’t have time for that. Seriously. You don’t have to know much about what it is like to be gay, but I do not want to sense on any level that you think it is a bad thing, some sort of disability, something freakish. I mean, I’ve gone through a spell of crying daily, for god/ess’ sake. Your homophobia will not help me.

Turns out there is such demand and so few therapists that I had to get on several waiting lists. Finally, this one gal called me back. I saw her for 80 minutes on a Wednesday on the way to a training in Portland. I like her. She seems smart, kind, experienced. I impressed her; I was trying to. I want her to like me, so that when she hears the stories of my ruined parts, she will hold them in context. I will see her once a month.

I am reminded of Anne Lamott:

I asked a friend of mine who practices a spiritual path called Diamond Heart to explain the name recently, because I instinctively know that Sam and I both have, or are, diamond hearts. My friend said our hearts are like diamonds because they have the capacity to express divine light, which is love; we are not only portals for this love, but are actually made of it. She says we are made of light, our hearts faceted and shining, and I absolutely believe this, to a point: Where I disagree is when she says we are beings of light wrapped in bodies that only seem dense and ponderous, but are actually made of atoms and molecules, with infinite space and light in between them. It must be easy for her to believe this, as she is thin, and does not have children. But I can meet her halfway: I think we are diamond hearts, wrapped in meatballs.

Anne Lamott, Plan B

There are lots of metaphors and explanations for psychological distress, and for the prospect of trying to grow and change out of patterns of behavior or thought that do not serve me or help me serve others. I spent much of social work school trying to diagnose my mother. It was the side gig of my Master’s Degree.

Apparently, sometimes, the brain inherits traits and characteristics in the DNA, and genes get flipped on or off depending on environment. Sometimes the in-utero environment makes an impact. Did you know that when a family has a series of boys, one of the younger ones might be gay? I know of three families in which this is true, including my own.

I read somewhere that when a mother is anxious, the fetus will be bathed in cortisol, the stress hormone, and then once born, they are more likely to be anxious as a child. It certainly seems intuitive that an anxious child picks up anxiety when the mama is anxious. In childhood, the child does everything within its power to capture the attention and love of the mother.

“The key role of the 'good enough' mother [is] adaptation to the baby, thus giving it a sense of control, 'omnipotence' and the comfort of being connected with the mother. This 'holding environment' allows the infant to transition at its own rate to a more autonomous position. The good-enough mother...starts off with an almost complete adaptation to her infant's needs, and as time proceeds she adapts less and less completely, gradually, according to the infant's growing ability to deal with her failure." (Winnicott, 1953)

“Failure” sounds harsh, but it is inevitable that a mother fails her child because it is impossible to meet every need, in fact it is not a good thing to have every need met. However, there is a basic minimum, the Good Enough, and my mother could not meet it. Although she did the best she could.

My sister and I both survived our mother, and when we look back to our ancestors, we’ve concluded that we are pretty darn high functioning, given the heritage.

I do wonder at the trauma my clients have survived, and how lucky I was. Of the highest possible score of ten in the test, “Adverse Childhood Experiences,” most of my clients score a 5 or more. I do realize that having a troubled childhood is not a competitive sport: I must deal with what I was dealt and take responsibility from there. (I scored a 3: https://www.ncjfcj.org/sites/default/files/Finding%20Your%20ACE%20Score.pdf) As my first therapist once told me, it is okay to acknowledge our own deprivation. Perhaps an early step of self-care is this acknowledgement, and the beginning of healthy self-soothing.

Unhealthy self-soothing is rampant: for me it’s over eating and over spending. I don’t feel that there is ENOUGH for me. I need MORE. And yet I have plenty.

There is

Always

Enough

And

Enough

Plenty

Guillermo in Simply Living: The Spirit of Indigenous People by Shirley Jones

Although I KNOW I have enough, somehow, I don’t feel it. I don’t act like I have enough.

All kinds of behaviors and ideas about myself came from being an anxious child in an anxious, chaotic household. Without psychotherapy, I slowly return to my default position: anxiety and self-doubt. Psychotherapy is like physical therapy, for me. Without it, I tend to deteriorate. Ongoing therapy taps into my strengths and I get stronger, again, over and over. Depression and anxiety are the default positions, but not my fate. It’s like diabetes: it cannot be cured, but it can be managed.

I do realize how much I use the word HUNGER as a metaphor. Or maybe it is reality. We can hunger for love.

***

The triumvirate of healing for me is, talk therapy, psychotropics, and self-awareness. Oh and church.

After finding a therapist, I also saw my family nurse practitioner. I did not intend to go in there looking for a new antidepressant, but as we discussed my chronic illnesses, and my discouragement, I cried pretty much the entire time. Tears have a way of sending up an emergency flare, don’t they? Within the hour, I had a new antidepressant. It is my third one. Prior to starting each of the three, I had daily crying jags that I could not stop.

The very next day: no tears. Either I’d cried myself out, or the subtle shift of chemicals stopped up the leaky tearducts. Either way, I’m grateful. New psychotropics? Check.

***

Self-awareness is risky because it can fall so easily into self-absorption or self-pity. The worst is self-delusion. Tell the truth to yourself, if to nobody else. Self-awareness means I notice my thoughts, moods, what comes out of my mouth, to make adjustments, to query myself, what’s going on? Why such caustic cynicism? Why so many f-bombs?

Depression can express itself in irritability, in the lack of pleasure in usual things, in the over estimation of some things and under estimation of others. My former fiancé once said, life is a shit sandwich, and every day a bigger bite. Depression is the glass half empty. And it lies.

Sometimes, when I am in a darker place, it has meant that too much is going on at one time and I am simply overwhelmed because of stressors that are not my fault. What got me into therapy with The Wizard back in 1999 was what we both eventually referred to as an emotional multi-car pile-up. Many external stressors were wearing me down and my internal leaning is to anxiety and self-doubt. I leaned so far, I fell over.

Is that’s what’s going on now?

Some very old emotional stuff got stirred up in September. My ongoing and mostly unsuccessful struggle with pancreatitis makes me feel bad and is wearing. My work is challenging and it’s not just the pain of the clients I see. I am deeply disappointed in my failure to get my shit together in one important area (that would be my finances) and the self-beration is corrosive, not to mention the stressor of the consequences (poverty). Wouldn’t it just be easier to change my behavior instead of berating myself for behaving in the old, familiar ways?

The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Behavior change is not easy. Insight helps but it is not enough.

Like many people, part of my sadness comes from the dying of the light, as fall turns to winter in the northern hemisphere. I share this with millions. (It’s called Seasonal Affective Disorder.)

I listened recently to a podcast on managing money called Bad With Money. The host is a ‘creative’ who happens to have bipolar disorder. Her guest on that episode also had bipolar, and she spoke about spending money wildly when she’s manic. She’s built in some safeguards in her life to prevent her from doing this. She also has friends give her feedback if she’s getting too ‘weird.’ How wonderful is that. People who gently say, hon, I think you’re getting a little wound up here…And this creative woman can say, oh shit, thanks for pointing this out! And she goes into radical self-care mode, and maybe adjusts her medications.

Yeah, it would be helpful to have friends like that. My gentle, totally unneurotic partner picks up a number of my craziness clues. Mostly, I observe myself. I am the turd around which the world revolves, after all. (Once again, Anne Lamott.)

Ever heard of Maria Bamford? She has struggled with OCD, bipolar disorder and a bunch of other things, and she is on top of all of that, mostly through ‘better living through chemistry’, which is to say she finally found the right drug for her. Depakote, as it turns out. She is an actress and comedian and quite wonderful. She has had to spend her entire adult life figuring out how to survive (literally, to not kill herself) and then, finally, thrive. It is hard work! She is well worth watching to see how she does the thriving thing: her art is standup comedy. An inspiration for wee neurotic me.

So.

I am aware that something is a bit more stirred up, a bit looser, a bit more aware of the echo of old pain, than usual. I am not sure what to do with this awareness beyond what I am doing, which is, a bit of bibliotherapy (writing about it), seeking out a new therapist on this side of the continental divide (done), switching antidepressants (done), and looking for church (ongoing.) I am also lucky to be going on a weeklong retreat that my incredibly loving and generous only sibling is paying for, in mid-November. I will have the luxury to concentrate on me and only me for a bit. (Warning: the following is metaphor frappe.) I go in the hope the part of me that is the observing ego can revisit some old tender places, cast an eye, and an ear, to listen to the echo of the old pain, and practice self-healing, self-forgiveness, to be whole for a minute, to allow the pain to wash over me. I would like to orchestrate the old pain, the long ago deprivation, into a cleansing bath, like the conductor does in the video I’m of late obsessed with: a concert in Verona Italy, with Peter Gabriel singing a haunting version of David Bowie’s Heroes. Watch the YouTube video and see this lithe man swing his arms so that all the violins will conjure up the sweet agony of the music. (Google

Peter Gabriel - Heroes (Live in Verona 2010) - YouTube

and watch him yourself.)

Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightment: chop wood, carry water.

Before mental health is re-established: show up for work, show up for the people who love me, practice self-care, and crochet. After mental health is re-established: show up for work, show up for the people who love me, practice self-care, and crochet.

Here is one of the most comforting bits of writing I’ve ever found, for times like these. The thing is, the unformed unknowing never ends. But that’s okay. It has to be okay. I am trying, always to “accept… the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense, and incomplete.”

Trust in the slow work of God.

We are, quite naturally, impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new,

and yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability -- and that it may take a very long time.

Your ideas mature gradually --

let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don't try to force them on, as though you could be today what time

(that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will)

will make them tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you,

and accepting the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense, and incomplete.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

depression anxiety de Chardin therapy

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