Girls Gone Wild

Well, not in the way you think. I was recently informed that a former patient of the psych hospital where I once worked had written a book. So, of course I had to read it. Some of the things I cannot verify, because I worked across the street at the inpatient hospital, not at The Village, where Vona was a patient. However, I did work with a LOT of kids within the days leading up to their stay at the Village.

Other than the scene where a female staff gets her ass kicked, I would say it's at least more accurate than not. But some male staff member did get their asses kicked and their cars stolen when two male patients eloped when I worked there. Yeah, that's why I worked at the hopsital, not at the Village.

The rumor mill reports that Peninsula was going to sue Abigail Vona, the author, but her publicity has made them the hot item of mental health for the moment, so their program is full and has a waiting list.

I now work at a different hospital in a different part of the country. I found that Peninsula was a little to arbitrary and strict for no therapeutic reason. Several of the staff were burnt out workers with too little training and too much power. But I now see that for all its warts, Peninsula wasn't that bad. The hospital where I work now, THAT's bad. They have no rules. Just like the kid's parents have no rules. So, what could be a corrective emotional experience becomes an expensive holiday paid by their insurance.

Tastes Like Chicken...

Philosophically, I would say that my life probably looks pretty attractive. I boycott McDonalds. I support a living wage. I don't support the war, but I love my soldiers. I don't believe Jesus was white, rich, Republican, nor American. But when philosophy intrudes on my reality, I'm a real bitch.

Case in point. I live a hectic grad student life. Three jobs, an internship, full course load, church, hubby, and two kitties. Last Friday, I actually found a sliver of time to go work out. Amazingly, afterward I had just enough time to run by the grocery store. Being (relatively) poor, by American standards, I chose Aldi. If you've ever shopped there, you can't help but have a strong emotional reaction to the Aldi experience. Hyped up on the excitement of basement prices, the aisles of Aldi are jammed full of customers frantic to escape. Buggies (rented for a quarter) are always piled high with boxes, cans, and produce with a checkout line longer than the wait for Space Mountain at Disneyworld.

As always, I was in a hurry. I zoomed around the aisles, throwing people food and kitty food into my cart. I was vaguely aware of a large family that seemed to have 4 or 5 of their own carts, filled to overflowing. When I made it to the checkout, I became alarming aware of this family, because all of them were in front of me. At first I was perturbed. I began examining this family that dare delay my plans for a shower, some makeup, and lunch before heading for a night shift at job #3.

Upon further examination, I realized that this family was not from my suburban world. Brightly dressed in multiple colorful, gay, clashing pagnes (wrap around dresses of sorts), their ebony skin shone and their tongues flickered with syllables that I could not discern. They had the most interesting items in those overflowing carts. The most popular item appeared to be frozen, fried chicken, followed by cases of coke and enough produce for an army.

But it was clear that this family did not understand the rules of my world. At first, one family member was in line in front of me. Then another family member with a full cart joined the previous, passing myself and 2 others in line. Then another. Then finally, one more until all four carts had "jumped" my concept of a line. No self effacing "forgive me" smiles. No kind nods, just marching right to the front of the line, cart in tow, as if family members should stay together at the expense of all else. At first I was peturbed. This literally could add up to an hour of waiting in line. Everyone else around me was clearly upset. People looked around uncomfortably, scuffed the cheap linoleum with their toe, unsure of what to do.

But something struck me at that moment. How unwilling am I to change my "rules" to accomodate new people? Sure, I donate to the refugee families hosted by my church. I sponsor a child through Compassion International. I complain how our government is negligent to the people in the Darfur region of Sudan. I may never buy another diamond again in my life. But when it comes down to daily living...to sacrificing an hour of my life to accomodate a family that is new to my neighborhood...I get peturbed.

Right there in Aldi, I began to chuckle. I don't know if it was the absurd number of boxes of fried chicken in the carts ahead of me or my own hypocrisy, but for some reason the situation seemed humorous. For the first time, it really stuck with me why I am so greedy. I despise being made uncomfortable. I don't move to the Congo because they don't have fried chicken frozen in a box. They don't have Aldi. And I don't know the rules.

And so, we all become uncomfortable when someone, something, challenges the rules that make us comfortable. That's why we all hate the social awkwardness of elevators. That's why we debate the appropriateness of breasts in church. So yeah, philisophically, I'm a relative Mother Theresa. But then I remember, it's not about the philosophy, it's about the living.

What I Do When I Should be Sleeping

You Are Not Scary

Everyone loves you. Isn't that sweet?

How scary are you?

You Know You're from Tennessee When....

• You've never met any celebrities....other than Fred Thompson
• "Vacation" means going to the family reunion.
• You know all 4 seasons: Almost Summer, Summer, Still Summer and Christmas.
• You laugh when people from anywhere north of TN tries to say or spell "y'all"
• It's "Mar-vull" not "Mary-ville"
• It's "Knox-vull" not "Knox-ville"
• A tabogan is a hat, not a sled. You butter your hot biscuit by cutting it open, putting a slab of butter inside and closing it back up again.
• Every town in East Tennesse has a "strip" and they're not particularly safe to be in at night.
• Pigeon Forge is not pronounced with a French accent.
• Gatlinburg does have an "L" in it and it should be pronounced.
• Sales tax is 9.5%. You shop at Walmart for groceries, not at a grocery store.
• You don't drive in Knoxville on game-day. EVER.
• You can't remember the last time you saw snow.
• You have a "piss on" sticker on your car window
• You know when Elvis Presley Day is
• You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Tennessee.
  

The Complexity of the Human Body

Here is the exhibit that my husband and I went to see actually on a Valentine's outing to the city.



Here is a *blurry* shot of a preserved body of a lady who donated her body when she learned that she nor her child would most likely survive the birth. The exhibit is currently on exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Science and Industry.


A closeup of the child about to be born. Please forgive the poor photography, I was breaking the rules to even be taking pictures, so I had to be discreet and look innocent.


And you always wondered how testicles worked....

Further Adventures in Graduate Life

So, today, I had my interview(s) for the Doctor of Psychology program. It's interesting how everyone's psychopathology floats to the top in such stressful sitations. I am sure that mine does, too. Oddly enough, I did not suffer any undue anxiety about the interviews. It helps when you have already had some of the courses and you know a lot of the professors. I met some really cool people. I am more concerned that I will get in and be stuck with a bunch of uptight overachievers than I am about not getting in. How is that for paradox, and for making myself look like an uptight overachiever? (Achieves that purpose quite well, I think.)

About this having a blog thing, I've decided that it presents some interesting quandries for me. I desire the anonymity of being able to bitch about classmates and coworkers, clients, family, and inlaws, but realize that it wouldn't be a large leap for someone to figure out who I am. Especially considering that my hubby's blog is a lot more popular than mine, and he keeps pestering to link to me.

So, in honor of stream of consciousness, let's switch topics. I have been writing a paper on my approach and conceptualization of cases in therapy, and for some reason I feel the need to share an excerpt on psychodynamic theory and appraoches to therapy.

For some reason, it seems that communicating my emerging theory for formulation of cases must begin with my view of sin as a Christian. Sin, this three letter “dirty” word in our society, is at the root of all suffering, pain, and problems of living. While personal responsibility for sin cannot be denied and must be addressed, this is not the sin of which I write. No, it is the state of sin in which we live, the force of sin that influences every moment of human existence that is integral to understanding the problems that clients present.
An object lesson best communicates what I mean by the “force of sin” in the lives of individuals. For a moment, consider a client named Mary. Let us say that Mary’s one purpose in life is to hold a rather large stone in her hand with her arm extended away from her body. Once Mary uncovers that this is her purpose, she could commit countless individual sins. She may decide never to pick up the stone, or at times pick it up only to set it down again. Mary could hold something other than the stone in her outstretched hand, or do things with the stone other than merely hold it. But, one thing is for certain, even if Mary picks up the stone and holds it outstretched, her arm will grow weary. She will constantly struggle against a force that pulls her arm and the stone it holds toward the ground. No matter how much she desires to hold up that stone, how dedicated she is to holding up the stone, or how good her intentions may be, gravity is constantly working to fatigue her and eventually she will fail. Sin is the gravity of all our lives.
It is because sin is the pervasive force of all humankind, that I feel psychodynamic approaches are the primary means by which I conceptualize cases. Psychodynamic theory allows for the losses that we all invariably suffer. It begins in childhood when, from the moment of birth, we must learn to mourn the loss of the perfect parent or the perfect union with a parent. For if even our parents, the formative relationships to who we are to become, are fallen from the start, how do we expect the rest of humankind to be any less fallen?
The pain evident in birth continues throughout life. An empathic failure here, a rejection there, an unmet need or desire elsewhere, all lead to a continued need to mourn the losses of living in an existence that is never free from the force of sin. But, part and parcel with falleness comes the reality that losses are often ignored, viewed as weakness, or treated in other damaging ways. Sometimes the force of sin becomes so pervasive that we might even force others to create patterns of relating that would never occur otherwise. At its worst, the gravity of sin makes an us capable of distorting God and incapable of receiving His grace and forgiveness for our state of sin.
Therefore, in treatment, it becomes crucial to enable clients to identify and mourn losses. Whether or not a client acknowledges that these losses are the result of sinfulness is not the point. Rather, facilitating the process of loss, bereavement, and recovery, can facilitate the relief of guilt, the acceptance of grace, and instill hope that true change can be made. I feel that, except in rare cases, a clinician’s main purpose is to help a client clarify losses, acknowledge and mourn those losses, and to deal with what really exists in the place of hoped for perfection. It is only then that a client may stop desperately repeating the same unhealthy patterns of relating and receiving the same deflating results.

Enjoy...until next time....