When friendships hurt.

The past year of my life has been one of pretty serious turbulence and upheaval.....again. The entire status quo of the previous 6 years evaporated nearly in an instant when my mother passed away early last June. Mom left absolutely everything to me and I found myself financially solvent for the first time since I moved to Kauai. That's not to say that mom's death wasn't difficult for me since she was the largest (but not only) source of abuse during my childhood and I had an extreme amount of conflicting emotions regarding our relationship. The circumstances of my relationship with my mother were extremely volatile and complex, something most anyone outside of abuse survivors wouldn't be able to understand or appreciate. This wasn't the first major death in my immediate for me within the previous 5 years though. I lost my only sibling to suicide 4 years prior to mom's death and also was an extremely complex event for me to deal with.

It is during that summer following Carly's suicide that my best friend started to complicate things for me. I'm not going to name my friend because I think it would be unfair to do so without his explicit permission, which I have no intention of asking for. I'm just going to refer to him as "my friend from Spokane" during this post.

I met my friend from Spokane back in 2001 when we students doing our clinical internships at one of the hospitals in Spokane. It turned out that we both had an interest in mountain biking and skiing/snowboarding and we spent a fair amount of time doing both activities together up until my wife and I's decision to move to Kauai. It should also be known that my friend was a big enough part of my life that he was a member of my wedding entourage. As I've mentioned several times in previous blog posts, my marriage fell apart within weeks after moving to the island and my wife ended up moving back to Spokane while I remained on the island. Though I did my best to keep our separation and eventual divorce as amicable as possible, my now ex-wife had no such intentions and she basically made all of our mutual friends choose sides.......and most everyone sided with her, which is perfectly okay. My friend from Spokane and his wife were pretty much the only friends from that period that stuck with me and they even came to visit me on the island (the only people to do so other than my sister when things fell apart at the end of my stay on Kauai). This is something that I will be eternally grateful for, it was so nice to be around familiar company at the time and I genuinely enjoyed all of the activities we did together during their visit.

My friend from Spokane was there for me when I crash landed back on the mainland and he picked Jack and myself up at the airport in Seattle and drove us back to Spokane. I ended up settling in Missoula shortly thereafter. Both he and his wife are from Missoula and both of their families still live here, which meant I would see the two of them at least every other month and I would occasionally go over to Spokane to visit with them. My first year in Missoula was a pretty dark one for me, I was completely in debt, I didn't have a comfortable living space, and I carried a lot of shame from the divorce and failing to make things work on the island. As a result of all of this, I fell into a pretty deep depression and gained about 20 pounds during that first year. I went back to mountain biking that following spring and went a time or two with my friend. It was at this point that he started making comments about my lifestyle choices and weight issues. These were subtle at first and I'm only aware of all of this in hindsight.

Carly took her life in late May of that spring and that naturally had a huge impact on me. My friend was familiar with my sister's troubles from conversations I had with him about the subject. In fact, I had mentioned some time in the early 2000's that I was pretty sure that Carly was going to succeed in taking her own life within the next 5 to 10 years. Now, though we were good friends and I told him a lot of intimate things in confidence, I wouldn't describe my friend as the most compassionate or emotional individuals that I have ever met.......which is fine, some people are just that way and I accept him for it. However, he had a very difficult time in understanding the complexities of my emotions involving Carly's death and how much I was grieving at the time. At one point in time, in what would become one of the coldest things anyone has ever said to me, he said that he didn't understand my emotions or grief on the subject since I had been saying for years that I thought Carly was going to take her life at some point in time. Though this was indeed a very cold thing to say to anyone in grief,  I would never say that it was a statement he made out of malice, it was just a statement from someone who is not emotionally sensitive, has ever suffered a loss, or has never had a life changing negative event occur to them. My friend grew up in a normal home, free from abuse and I don't think he ever suffered any bullying at the hands of classmates. To be honest, I don't think he had any reference for any of the complex experiences I've had growing up and I don't think he was capable of processing the things I experienced on the island, or the fallout from my time there.

It's at this point that I should say that I've known all of these things about my friend, but I've always accepted them because it is who he is. Though I am bitter about things I'm about to say here, I will always defend my friend's character because though he is not very emotional or compassionate, he is a very nice, genuine and intelligent man.

Exactly one month after Carly's death, I went out late one evening for a mountain bike ride with Jack on a trail that I am very familiar with. I was very emotional at that point and I really pushed things on the downhill in an attempt to purge some of the intense feeling I was having. Well, I clipped a rock, went over the handlebars, and broke my right arm along with several ribs because of how aggressively I was riding that night. This meant I spent all of my summer grieving my sister, unable to get out and enjoy the weather, nursing an arm with a new plate in it, and waiting for my ribs to mend.......which meant I put on another 15 or so pounds and I fell even further into a near crippling depression. I finally shed my arm cast about 3 days before my trip to  Dave Matthews Band at the gorge with my then girlfriend. That trip proved to be a serious disaster for me and I returned home almost despondent from everything that had transpired over the previous 4 months. My friend and his wife came over to Missoula about 3 weeks later to attend a Michael Franti concert with me. We had a pretty good time at the show but when I was purchasing a concert shirt after the show,  he made note of the fact that I had gotten a XXL shirt and mentioned "You are going to do something about that, right?" Needless to say I was extremely embarrassed and more than a little hurt. To make things even worse, I saw the two of them in the parking lot of a grocery store then next day and he inquired if I had gone mountain biking that day. I explained that I had not since I was working a graveyard shift that night and needed to rest up for it that day. He called me a "lazy fuck" on the spot. Stunned beyond words, I bid them goodbye. Needless to say, I didn't speak to him for a couple of months after that incident. He did eventually call and apologize, but combined with his comments about Carly's death, the damage had been done and my opinion of him along with my willingness to talk about any sensitive issues with him changed dramatically. I had forgiven him, but his words continue to hurt and haunt me to this day.

Things with my long distance girlfriend exploded the following year and with it came serious thoughts of harming myself on a regular basis. He did his best to try to support me during this time, especially during my two hospitalizations and subsequent 6 week stay at an intensive outpatient mental health center in Seattle. We did have a couple of rough episodes though. He came to Missoula one weekend insisting that I go up skiing with him and his friend up at the local ski resort. I had completely lost interest in winter sports before moving to the island and didn't want to go at all, especially since I was completely out of shape and severely depressed at the time. He absolutely insisted that I go with them (because of the weight issue again) and it was pretty much a complete disaster for me.

I came home from the program in Seattle in the best frame of mind that I had been in in over 5 years, possibly the best I had ever been in my entire. I went back to mountain biking with an energy and enthusiasm I hadn't seen since I had been in college in Bozeman. He was pleased by this and came over to ride with me numerous times........though he would push absolutely as hard as he could, which is not something I appreciate at all. I ride to have fun, not to be pushed to go harder so I can lose weight. It got to the point that I didn't want to ride at all with him because of the anxiety it caused me and I even cancelled a trip over to Spokane to go riding with him and a friend of his (someone who I've never liked).

It should be noted that my current physical condition causes me a tremendous amount of anxiety and shame. I weighed 100 pounds less than I do today back in 1994 and I was in really good shape all up to and including my time on the island. Since coming home, I have been assaulted with one major event after another and the severity of my underlying mental illness has increased exponentially. I went from kind of having mental illness problems to crossing over into non-functional territory over the last 6 years. I'm fat, there is no sugar coating my physical condition and my friend's visible displeasure with this has been a constant source of anxiety for me. His pressure for me to constantly be mountain biking, in the gym, and/or rigorously hiking with the dogs had driven me to the point of completely abandoning mountain biking over the last two years because I felt I had to go as much as possible or he was going to be angry with me. It even got to the point where I would lie to him as to what my activities were to avoid his displeasure over the year preceding my mother's death. By the time last spring had arrived, I had gotten to the point that I was trying to avoid contact with him altogether because of the anxiety it would give me and the extent I felt I needed to lie to him.

The news of my mother's terminal cancer and 6 to 8 month  prognosis once again shattered the very tenuous stability I was able to maintain in life at that point. The last time I saw my friend was in early March, a few days after I had gotten the news about mom. My relationship and feelings regarding my mother were even more complicated that those that I had about my sister. At the time, I didn't want to have anything to do with trying to take care of mom in her dying days (please don't judge, there are very, very painful reasons for this involving how I was treated by her growing up with severe asthma). I'm not even sure why I even bothered to discuss any of this with my friend since I knew he was unable to showing any sort of compassion, understanding or support toward me on this very complicated subject. Worse than that, he made numerous references toward my weight and questioned me on my activity levels and how much I was getting out with the dogs.

At this point I was now becoming very resentful toward him and very afraid of his judgements (perceived or real) of me. I came to my senses over what I was going to do about mom's suffering and decided that I was going to take family medical leave from work to stay with her in Helena until she passed away. During this two month period I didn't hear once from my friend in Spokane, which was a very difficult time for me because of all the issues I was facing. Mom passed away a few days before I was going to take my leave and I didn't bother to call my friend and tell him because I was so afraid of what he would say to me.......because I wasn't doing anything for exercise at all.

I finally got a phone call from him about 4 days after the funeral. I had posted a picture of myself dressed in a tie for the funeral (something that I never wear) on my Instagram account mentioning the funeral and put he 2 and 2 together about what had. That phone call was a little surreal, I hadn't heard from him in months, a LOT had occurred during that time, and I was in a very strange place at the time. Of course he asked about what I had been doing for exercise, which really got under my skin, almost to the point of me telling him to go fuck himself. He told me to make sure to get out and mountain bike with the the dogs and to keep in touch......which was now an extremely remote possibility on my part. The last time I heard from was a week later he texted me asking me how the mountain biking in Helena was going. I told him I was far too busy to do anything of that nature. You know, because I was far too busy going through everything at mom's condo, taking care of the estate, and all the other small things one has to do when a major family member dies and you are the only living heir.

That was almost a year ago now and I'm still very hot under the collar about all of it. I've struggled really hard over the last year and I've pretty much done it all alone. Things finally came completely unglued for me back in January and I had to take a leave of absence from work. I went back too early, nearly lost my job in a very unfortunate and unprecedented incident where there were no clear guidelines or policies about what course of action should be taken in that kind of situation. The lab manager came hunting for my head and showed an impressive amount of zeal while assassination my character. I'm almost completely alone save from a few online interactions via Facebook........and I trust absolutely no one. During all of this time I haven't heard from my friend even once......and it hurts. Worse yet, I'm scared to death he is going to show up out of the blue and be more than happy to express his displeasure with me over being fat.

My subconscious mind tells me that I have no right to feel hurt or angry with him. It tells me that I deserve to be punished and/or abandoned by him because I'm fat and am too lazy to do anything about it. My subconscious mind also tell me that I finally ran off the last of my friends and that I have finally fulfilled my destiny of being completely alone. I could deal with all of this if another part of my mind wasn't so pissed off over being pressured, judged and eventually abandoned by another person who was important to me. I could call him up and express my feelings to him, but that has always proven to be a disastrous idea in the past. I can't seem to move on from it either, I obsess about it nearly every day. The worst by far is that I ran into his brother this week at restaurant, just by chance. I knew this was going to happen eventually, but that doesn't mean I was even remotely ready for it. "Hey Jon, when was the last time you heard from Matt? Did you know he bought a BMW?".......... I've never wanted to run away so much in my life. I spoke the truth though, that I hadn't heard from him since very shortly after my mom had passed away. I also mentioned that he hadn't been very happy with me and my lifestyle choices for quite some time. His brother mentioned that I should just call him. I should call him? I should call HIM? Yes, that sounds like an absolutely STERLING IDEA, how about I do that right now so you can listen to him ask me how much I've been mountain biking with the dogs so I can be less fat than I am now. HOW ABOUT NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  In fact, your brother can GO FUCK HIMSELF.

Here's what I really want to say to my so called friend. Fuck you. Fuck you and your easy fucking life. Fuck you and your lack of understanding and compassion. Fuck you and your "happy" little marriage. Did I ever mention how I feel sorry for your poor wife? Judging from the utter lack of compassion that you've shown me over the last 5 years, I'm guessing you must reserve all of it for her emotional needs. NOT. I've watched you unfairly push her to lose weight over the last 10 years. In fact, I've always wanted to ask her what it's like to be married to a man who has the emotional depth and maturity of the average slime covered rock you find in the mud at the bottom of a fucking swamp. She must be sensationally happy with your marriage. Have you ever even considered her wants or emotional needs? I'm sure you have been more than happy to push her to lose as much weight as possible and make her feel less than attractive and undeserving of your nonexistent love. I can't even begin to imagine what any sort of intimate contact you have with her. Have you ever even made love to her? I'm sure you read a manual on the subject and followed the procedure down to the last letter, minus all of the emotion, tenderness, and connection you are supposed to show to her.  Oh yeah, fuck you and all the new and expensive fucking toys you flaunted in my face over the last 6 years. Being completely broke, it's not like I was sensitive about those sort of things.  Finally, fuck you for abandoning me, it's not like I need people in my life who accept and understand me for who I am. Up until now, I've always done that for you. I hope some day your fucking life comes crashing down around you......and doesn't let up for a 7 year period. I hope you get an intimate experience for what it's like to get tossed around so badly by life that you don't know which way is up, or what you even stand for anymore. I hope you find yourself in a brand new city, with no money, nowhere to live, a brand new job and nothing other than the shirt on your back, your dog, and your car. I hope you look around for support from people, only to find that it isn't there at all.  I hope those people you look to for that support either judge you, betray you, or abandon you at the worst moment possible.I hope you wind up fatter than I am right now and that your own wife will treat you with derision because you are too "lazy" to do anything about it. I hope you get to feel what it's like to wake up each day without any sense of fucking hope whatsoever, knowing that you are always going to be alone, and waiting for that fateful day when you finally muster up the courage to take your own life......and when you've experienced all of that for yourself, I hope you come crawling back to ask for my help and forgiveness. Here's the rub, after I finish telling you how much of an insensitive asshole you've been to me and how much pain you've caused me....... I'll offer you my hand and help you get back up on your feet, because that place is exactly where I live every single day and I know what it's like when no one is there to help you. Ultimately I would do that for you because despite all of the things that have occurred in my life, I've learned what compassion is, how important it is, and how to show it to people.....even the ones who have injured us the most.

This is how my mind works........every day.

I am Shinji Ikari. I am the hedgehog. Forgive what is about to come next, it's very raw, unfiltered and emotional. I have this conversation in my mind. Every day.

Stay away.
Stay away.
Stay away.
Stay away.
I don't trust you.
Stay away.
Stay away.
Stay away.
Stay away.


StayAwayStayAwayStayAwayStayAwayStayAwayStayAwayStayAwayStayAwayStayAway.

Stay. Away.
I don't trust you.

STAY AWAY!
 I. Don't. Trust. You.

Any of you.
TRUST NO ONE......they will only hurt you.

You must never trust anyone again.
I DON'T NEED ANYONE IN MY LIFE, THEY ONLY CAUSE ME PAIN!

......and they don't care.

They don't care.
They don't care.
They don't care.
They don't care.
They. Don't. Care.

THEY DON'T CARE!!!!!

Please, leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone.

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!

.............don't let anyone near................don't let anyone near.................don't let anyone near..........

DON'T LET ANYONE NEAR!!!!!

.........they will hurt you.
They will hurt you.
They will hurt you.
They will hurt you.
They will hurt you.

They. Will. Hurt. You.

THEY WILL HURT YOU!!!!!

........they won't accept you.
They won't accept you.
They won't accept you.
They won't accept you.
They won't accept you.

THEY WON'T ACCEPT YOU!!!!!

..........they will abandon you.
They will abandon you.
They will abandon you.
They will abandon you.
They will abandon you.

They. Will. Abandon. You.

THEY WILL ABANDON YOU!!!!!!!

........or they will betray you.
They will betray you.
They will betray you.
They will betray you.
They will betray you.

They. Will. Betray. You.

THEY WILL BETRAY YOU!!!!!!!

Trust. No. One......................................ever.

I will never trust again. I will never trust again. I will never trust again. I will never trust again.

I. Will. Never. Trust. Again.

I WILL NEVER TRUST AGAIN...............ever.

Who can you trust.....................................? No one.
Who can you trust.....................................? No one.
Who can you trust.....................................? No one.

Who can you trust.....................................? NO ONE!

TRUST NO ONE!
TRUST NO ONE!
TRUST NO ONE!
TRUST NO ONE!

If you keep them away, they can't hurt you, betray you, abandon you...........
If you keep them away......
If you keep them away......
If you keep them away......

YOU MUST KEEP THEM AWAY!!!!!

STAY AWAY FROM ME! STAY AWAY FROM ME! STAY AWAY FROM ME!

.......this is my fault.
This is my fault.
This is my fault.
This is my fault.
This is my fault.

This. Is. My. Fault.

THIS IS ALL MY FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!

............it has always been my fault.
It has always been my fault.
It has always been my fault.
It has always been my fault.
It has always been my fault.

It. Has. Always. Been. My. Fault.

IT WILL ALWAYS BE MY FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
StopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopItStopIt.

...........you can't stop it..................you never will.

LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want to be left alone.

Just. Stay. Away.

People only hurt me.
People only hurt me because I'm bad.
People only hurt me because I'm bad and flawed.
People only hurt me because I'm bad, flawed, and I'm less than human.
People only hurt me because I'm bad, flawed, less than human, AND BECAUSE I DESERVE IT!

I deserve it.
I deserve it.
I deserve it.
I deserve it.

I. Deserve. It.

I WILL ALWAYS DESERVE IT!!!!!!!

I must always hide.
I must always hide.
I must always hide.
I must always hide.

I. Must. Always. Hide.

I MUST ALWAYS HIDE!!!!!
ALWAYS!
ALWAYS!
ALWAYS!
ALWAYS!

A!L!W!A!Y!S!

AlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlwaysAlways

Smile and pretend everything is okay.
Smile and pretend everything is okay.
Smile and pretend everything is okay.
(they won't notice)
Smile and pretend everything is okay.
Smile and pretend everything is okay.
Smile and pretend everything is okay.
(they won't notice)

Always smile and pretend everything is okay.
(they will never notice)

Look at me, I'm okay.
Look at me, I'm okay.
Look at me, I'm okay.
Look at me, I'm okay.
(they are looking at you)

I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay..........................stay away............................
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay..........................stay away............................

I'M OKAY......................STAY AWAY......................

I'M ALWAYS OKAY......................STAY AWAY..................ALWAYS.

(they are still looking)
Distract them.
Distract them.
Distract them.............................stay away.....................
Distract them.
Distract them.............................stay away.....................

(it's not working, they will see the truth)

STAYAWAYSTAYAWAYSTAYAWAYSTAYAWAYSTAYAWAYSTAYAWAYSTAYAWAY

(they can see it, the truth, they can see it)

RUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAYRUNAWAY

MUST. RUN. AWAY.

HIDE.
HIDE.
HIDE.
HIDE.
(they are searching for you......and the truth)
HIDE.
HIDE.
HIDE.
HIDE.

DON'TFINDMEDON'TFINDMEDON'TFINDMEDON'TFINDMEDON'TFINDME


Who are you?
I don't know.
Who are you?
I don't know.
Who are you?
I don't know.
Who? Are? You?
I. Don't. Know.

WHO ARE YOU??????????????
I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know what people want me to be.
(you should be that person)
I know what people want me to be.
(you should be that person)
I know what people want me to be.
(you should be that person)

I don't want to be what people want me to be.
(you must be that person)
I don't want to be what people want me to be.
(you must be that person)
I don't want to be what people want me to be.
(you must be that person)

I have to try to be a good person.
(you aren't a good person)
I have to try to be a good person.
(you aren't a good person)
I have to try to be a good person.
(you aren't a good person...............................and you never will be)

Dr. Nelson will see you now?

Every now and then someone will mention that I should or should have gone to med school. I usually laugh maniacally at these sorts of statements. Me, as a doctor? I'm not sure the world would be able to support the smug/arrogant singularity that would be created if I were to ever obtain a medical doctorate.

First off, I already think I'm smarter than everyone (because I am), having a the letters "MD" attached to my name would only make things ten times worse. What about bedside manner? Well, all I could say is that I would be a cross of the worst characteristics of Dr. House from the show "House" and Dr. Cox from "Scrubs". No one wants to be a patient of a smug, asshole doctor who's right all of the time. Worse than that, no one wants to work for a smug, asshole doctor who's right all of the time. I work in the basement of our hospital as a mere clinical laboratory scientist and already I'm afraid to go to any other public places of the hospital for fear of being recognized as "that asshole from the lab". If people were indeed able to put my face to the voice they hear on the phone, I'm sure I would be stabbed, shivved, shanked, perforated numerous times via scalpel, or choked to death with a stethoscope. As a practicing physician, this would be far, far worse and I calculate my odds of being assassinated by the staff I work with would be about 98%.

In all seriousness, the idea of going to medical school has never appealed to me. I enjoy working in laboratory medicine very much and doubt I will ever stray very far from it. To be honest, the only type of doctoral medicine I would be interested in is pathology and I would almost certainly specialize in hematology, infectious disease, or epidemiology. I can specialize in those areas in my current professional career if I wanted to anyway. Though it is very flattering to have people suggest that I should have gone to medical school, it would require a focus, commitment, and drive that I don't think I've ever possessed. Truthfully, what I do in laboratory medicine requires a very in depth knowledge of broad categories of medicine already. In fact, the medical director of our lab has said to me numerous times that she thinks the most intelligent people you can find in a hospital setting are usually laboratorians and I agree with this statement, though not out of arrogance or hubris. My peers and colleagues are bar none some of the most intelligent and dedicated people I have ever met in my life. We perform detailed, sophisticated, and precise laboratory medicine every single day. Without us, physicians would be blind as to how to treat their patients. I am perfectly happy and proud to perform such essential functions behind the scenes, even though no one other than ourselves understands or realizes the enormity of the contributions we make every single day.

Besides, we ALL know just how big of an asshole physician I would be. Maybe if I could find an "Evil" medical school to attend, I might actually think about it. I'm going to keep the danger of a smug/arrogant singularity that would consume the world in the closet.....for now at least.

Carly Ann Nelson 10-03-1975 to 05-26-2009

There are few things that I wish more than to be able to go back in time to May of 2009. Carly, my sister and only sibling, took her own life on this very day five years ago. I wouldn't go back in time to try to stop her because I know she only wanted to end her pain and struggles and  to be honest, 25I probably would not be able to affect the outcome. Truth be told, I respect her decision and understand that it took a great deal of courage to do what she did. I would go back just to let her know that her brother loves her and that I would always love her, no matter what happened.

Carly had Borderline Personality Disorder and was an endstage alcoholic by the time she entered her early 30's (most likely due to her personality disorder). At least that is what the current theory is (one I subscribe to). Mental illnesses have an infuriating habit of being nebulous and undefinable so during the 17 years of Carly's struggles, we never really had an asnwer as to what the nature of her disease really was. Carly wasn't born with her disorder (as I wasn't either), but a genetic predisoposition to mental illness and addiction, along with a very troubled upbringing resulted in Carly becoming a very ill and unhappy person. I'm not going to delve into the specifics that made her they way she was because it was a very gradual and long term process......not to mention, I can't remember much of our childhood. I will say this, we both played roles in each other's diseases, albeit small ones, I don't hold this against Carly and I hope she would feel the same way about me.

When Carly was 16 she made her first attempt at suicide via overdose. During emergency attempts to pump Carly's stomach, some contents were aspirated into her lungs and she went into respiratory failure. Carly's situation was dire enough that she was flown to the University of Minnesota hospital in Minneapolis. She eventually made a recovery after a number of months. She would wear the prominent tracheostomy scar from her tracheotomy for the rest of her life unfortunately. During Carly's recovery in the hospital, placing her in a long term pediatric mental health facility was recommended (which I supported). Carly was adamant about returning home to Helena for her senior year of school and was able to convince my parents to let her do so. Now this is not an indictment of any of the decisions that were made regarding Carly's wellbeing, I am merely pointing out that it was clear she was very ill from a mental standpoint early on.

Carly went home for her senior year and began drinking socially at that point. This began a seventeen year long battle with alcohol addiction for her, one that she was never able to beat for more than a few months at a time. My father and mother did their best to help Carly get well and she spent time at numerous rehabilitation programs and high level mental health facilities. Nothing ever seemed to work and Carly fell further and further into despair as time went by.

I was too busy making my way through college, finding my place in the world, and slowly coming to the realization that Carly wasn't the only one who was very mentally ill to really have a whole lot of contact with my sister. I was a much different person back then than I am today. I harbored a great deal of resentment toward Carly regarding our childhood, all the time and resources my parents devoted to her, and her inability to stay sober or out of trouble for more than a few months at a time. In short, I had little compassion for my sister's plight. By the time I had entered my career in the early 2000's it became clear to me that Carly most likely was going to succeed in a suicide attempt in the future at some point and I did my best to make that known to my parents.

I can only imagine what it was like for Carly to struggle all of those years while she watched all of her friends and her brother move on with their adult lives while she remained trapped within the prison of her illness and alcoholism. Shame is a subject that I am extremely well versed in and I feel very sad for how she must have felt. Carly kept trying her hardest to make things work, but the cards were stacked against her by the time the mid 2000's arrived. Her drinking binges became so severe that she had to be hospitlized for detoxification each time and she had more than bout with acute pancreatitis, which became a chronic ailment for her in the last years of her life. Worse yet, the increasing intensity of each incident placed a great deal of strain upon her relationship with my parents and myself.

Carly became more severely depressed, ashamed of herself, alone, and miserable by 2008.....which was not the best of years for me either. I had been in Hawaii for 18 months at that point and the slow, downward spiral I was in began to accelerate rapidly enough to the point I became suicidal myself. It was clear that I needed to move home to the mainland, which was no small task at the time. Carly offered to come visit me during those last few weeks on the island to make sure that I was going to be safe and okay. While she didn't really help much with my moving activities, it was nice to have her there with me, even if we did have a squabble or two. I think this was the first real vacation Carly had been on for many years and I think she genuinely enjoyed herself, which is something that gives me great comfort now.

By the time 2009 arrived, things had been steadily getting worse for Carly and her incidents (meaning her drinking binges, for lack of a better term) became more and more severe. She even went so far as to get married in secret to a man she was in a rehab facility with while no one was looking one day. Dad came out to Montana to try to fix this mess and it was at this point that I told him that I thought we were looking at the end times for Carly. Then, one fateful afternoon, Carly appeared in the ER here at Community Medical Center while I was on shift. I believe her pancreatitis was bothering her so mom brought her here to see if they could do something for her pain. In hindsight, I wonder if Carly came to this hospital, the very hospital she was born in, to say goodbye to me. Sadly, at this point I was more than fed up with her "antics" and was only filled with anger and resentment. Though I was downstairs in the lab when she was in our ER, I did not go up to see her because I knew if I did, I was going to release over 15 years worth of resentment upon her. Though it meant that I didn't get the chance to see her days before she took her own life, I am thankful every day that I didn't go up to see her and unleash my fury upon her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself in the aftermath. Knowing there was nothing they could do to help Carly, she was released from the ER and mom took her home to Helena. Whether unwittingly or by choice, Carly had come full circle in her life with that visit to this hospital. Two days later she took a fatal dose of painkillers, left a note, and fell unconcious in her room at mom's condo. Alone. She died several hours later in a hospital in Great Falls and I got the call sometime around 5:00 that morning.

The next week was a huge blur, though I had predicted her suicide many years prior, I was still rocked to my very core. Preparations for her funeral in Helena were made for the next week and I made the decision to speak at the service. Speaking at her service has easily been one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life and I still can't talk about it without bursting into tears. I have never been one to prepare speeches when called upon to speak in front of people, I've always just been able to convey what I wanted to without the need for notes. There must have been 200 and 300 people there in attendance and I was being called to the podium far too soon for my liking. I stood there and sobbed for 5 minutes before I could speak anything intelligible. It was so hard, but I had to do it. I had to try to convey what a beautiful person my sister was and despite all of the resentment I had held against her, I loved her very much. Just writing about the event has brought me to tears again.

Carly's tale may only seem to be about misery and sorrow, but that wasn't the essence of who she was. Carly was an extremely intelligent, charming, and witty person. She was always very kind and she loved animals (very much like her brother loves his Dingoes). She was so brilliantly smart and so witty though. She remains the only person in the world who actually grasped the complexity of my sense of humor, mostly because it was very similar to my own. She was such a beautiful person, so many people told how Carly had touched their lives at her memorial service. So much so that it became too overwhelming for me and I had to hide in the recesses of the church until the reception was over and everyone who wasn't going to the grave side service left. She loved music so much, even more so than I do. She read a lot of books and was reading Hunter S. Thompson way before I ever considered doing so. In high school it appeared to everyone that she was destined to go on to great things in adulthood, something that must have weighed heavily upon her heart in the later years of her life.

Carly's suicide five years ago today has become the most influential and transformative event of my entire life. Before her death I was always so cold and clinical all of the time, I wasn't capable of near the compassion that I am now. I've spent a great deal of time trying my best to make sense of it all and gain a greater understanding of who she was. I've seen what it's like to live too long without hope and what that does to a person both on the inside and outside. I try my best to learn as much as I can from her experiences so her death won't be in vain. I understand why she did it, why she took her own life now. Odds are that I will follow in her path some time in the future because I understand that sometimes people just aren't equipped to live in the world and that the brightest lights burn the shortest (not that my light is necessarily very bright). I've see loss from a unique perspective now and it has made me a far more compassionate person. I've spent time at a facility with other people with mental health and substance abuse issues, I understand her far better now that I ever did when she was still alive. It's extremely sad, but it has to count for something. I wouldn't have been able to be there for mom in the final month of her life if it weren't for things that I had learned from Carly's death. I realize that she was the only other person who knew what we went through as children and was maybe the only person who could have helped me make any sense of it. In the back of my mind, I always thought we would be close later in life and that we would both help each other find the answers to what we were looking for. I love and appreciate Carly far more now than I ever did when she was alive and that fills me with such great sorrow. It bothers me so much that she essentially died alone and that she didn't know if her own brother loved her or not. Earlier this month, I got tattoos of our favorite X-Men character on my forearms to represent the two of us. One of the character as a hero (in memory of her) and one of the character after she had succumb to the darkness of her soul (to represent me). I put them on my forearms so I would see them and be reminded daily of her.

So I would go back if I could, not to stop her because I wouldn't want her to suffer any longer in life than she already had, I would go back to tell her how much I love her and how we aren't as different as we always thought we were. I would show her how much I've learned and changed because of her death. Most importantly, I would make sure that she wasn't alone when she passed. No one should die alone and in misery like that. Interestingly, one of the greatest compliments that anyone has ever given was from Carly. When Jack and I crash landed back on the mainland I had very hard time finding a place for him and I to live at here in Missoula, so Jack spent a couple of weeks with mom and Carly in Helena. I came over to Helena one weekend to see him, because I can't stand to be away from him (or Carter, but he wasn't with us then) and really needed some comfort from him at the time. We were rough housing on mom's couch when Carly came down the stairs and said, "You really love your dog." I don't know how long she had been watching us, but I think at that moment she saw the essence of who I am and just how much love I am capable of. It may not seem like a very important thing, but it has come to mean so much to me over the years. It's important to me that she could see just how soft and gentle I can be. Jack bonded with Carly while he spent time with him and mom, sleeping snuggled up against her under the covers like he has with me since he was a puppy. He was there with us at her grave side service as well.

I miss my sister every day and I will miss her every day until the day I die. I will always remember her for the beautiful person she really was. I will always be sad that I wasn't able to show her love while she was alive and for the loss of any possible future we could have had together. I spend a great deal of time trying to learn from her suicide and take meaning from it. I hope it would make her smile in knowing that her suicide helped her brother to change as much as he has and that there will always be a place in his heart dedicated to her. I love you, Carly. I always will and I'm sorry.

Smart Fella or Fart Smella?

One of the more random ponderings that came across my mind as of recent had to do with my self perception regarding my intellect. Somewhere about half way through my especially long college career (I never failed a single class, I just couldn't decide on a subject to major in) I came to the conclusion that I am smarter than the average people around me.

Disclaimer: This post is not meant to come off as superior, smug, or arrogant (for once).

This wasn't one of those gradual sort of realizations either, it was jaw dropping, "Holy shit, I'm actually smart!", moments similar to a large insect colliding with the windshield of a speeding vehicle. I actually believe that this was one of the first moments of self awareness/realization for me. Being treated as something less than human for the majority of my childhood and teenage years instilled a very strong program into my brain, that program being that I'm worthless and that I should always believe that everyone I meet is better and more important than I am. As a result of all of this, I was never encouraged to really explore any idea that I might have an aptitude for anything. I wandered through life in that sort of fog, never questioning things and never looking beyond the experiences that I had. Waking up in your mid-20's to realize that everything that you had ever been told may be completely wrong was very unsettling for me. It was almost like I was born into a new world, but that world was almost incomprehensible to me. Looking back on my childhood, the signs were there, but Carly was always treated like she was the best at everything and to this day, I still can't get any member of my family to treat me like I'm an intelligent human being.

Though my aptitude is very high (at least I think it is), my emotional maturity is very stunted. Stunted in that I try my best not to experience feelings as much as possible (that is a tale for another time). I suddenly find myself doubting whether I'm near as smart as I think I am though. Growing up, asking questions usually elicited negative feedback for me so I became very adept at figuring things out of my own accord. To this day one of the most difficult things for me to do is to ask questions or ask for help, I will only do so if I have exhausted every resource at my disposal in pursuit of the answer to my queries. As a result, I have better than average problem solving abilities and know how to use knowledge based resources at my disposal. I honestly prefer to figure things out on my own, rather than ask for help.

One thing about grade school and high school was that I never gave a shit about my grades at all. Carly always got excellent grades, something her and mom were more than happy to compare me to on a regular basis. I never really saw the point to it though. Why should I have even cared? I never studied because I didn't have to and I didn't really see the point to that either. I always assumed that good grades were beyond my reach so it was a waste of time to even try. I carried this idea into the early years of college, I just never applied myself. Once I got into more interesting science courses, I found I had an active interest and natural ability in the subject matter. I still never applied myself properly to the course work though. All of that changed when I hit Comparative Vertebrate Anatomy. I actually failed the first practial in the class, something that had NEVER happened before. I was absolutely shocked, which I shouldn't have been because the professor said it was the academic equivalent to the "Bataan Death March". I finally applied myself to the course and wound up with a respectable "B" in the course. In retrospect, anatomy and physiology have always been easy subjects for me because I took comparative vert. The only other course that I have ever taken that required I apply myself that much was Embryology, a subject which I still hate to this day. Importantly, I finally learned that I actually was capable to getting good grades, with just a bit more effort than I had exhibited in the past.

By the time I finally figured out what I wanted to do with myself, I had already graduated with a degree in Biology, but I needed a degree in microbiology/clinical laboratory science, which required me to go back to school for another two years, plus a one year clinical internship on top of all that. By then I knew exactly what methods worked the best for me to comprehend subject material, so I managed to fly through my second degree getting good grades with minimal effort. I'm not saying I got the highest grades all of the time, I still didn't see the point in that, but I always managed to get an "A" in the majority of my courses. One of my peers that I went to school with will be happy to tell you about how much better she did on an immunology practical than I did because I was too busy playing video games the night before to study. I also made it through my clinical internship with far less effort and stress than my fellow students did, they were all too busy competing with each other for the highest grades when I knew it was all just to prime us for our board exams at the end of the year. My cavalier attitude toward the tests and course work garnered a lot of scorn from my fellow students, but to be honest, I didn't like any of them in the first place.

Anyway, I think I'm really smart and I will be more than happy to tell you that if you ask me. Is this really the case or is it pure hubris on my part? I've always prided myself on the fact that I much prefer to think for myself and come to my own conclusions, instead of having them forced down my throat. I'm not going to lie though, I'm very good at being a Clinical Laboratory Scientist and I would hope some of my former coworkers would agree with that opinion. I'm good at what I do because I apply myself to it every day and am genuinely interested in finding answers to every oddity that I come across. I never stop learning and I don't ever want to. I like to think of myself as a very critical and dynamic thinker, one who can look at the big picture without tripping on the details AND finding the tiny details when the situation warrants it. I don't know, maybe it really is all arrogant hubris on my part. So, am I a "Smart Fella" or a "Fart Smella"? You decide. I'll be over here being smug, overconfident, and arrogant.

Some people should never drink alcohol.

Every time when I see drunk people or people depicted as being drunk, I shudder and cringe in fright on the inside. It should be clarified that I pretty much gave up alcohol consumption altogether at about this time three years. There are several reason for this decision, starting with the fact that there is a very prominent history of substance abuse in my family, my sister in particular. Another reason is that alcohol is a depressant and anyone who knows me well, know that I don't need any extra help in that department. The last of the trivial reasons would be that I have never tolerated the stuff well and suffer from severe hangovers even from light drinking. Alcohol consumption just isn't my thing and to be honest, I really don't miss the experience for the most part.

None of the reasons above are the real reason why I gave up alcohol almost entirely, the real reason is far more serious and complicated in nature, as most everything having to do with my tends to be. Everyone knows that the more alcohol one consumes, the lower most people's inhibitions will go and this is very much that case with me......which is a bad thing. I have a great deal of what people would call inhibitions or what I call defensive measures to keep me from suffering harm at the hands of others. The lower my inhibitions go, the lower my defense measures go and the more vulnerable I become. Though this may seem fun to me at the time, having my defenses go down completely creates extreme amounts of anxiety in the aftermath. Part of the problem is that I become extremely honest with people and my feelings toward them. My ex-wife used to love it when I would get tipsy or drunk because I would spend all of my time telling her how much I loved her and whatnot (thank goodness I don't have that problem any longer). The honesty thing is almost always in a very positive fashion, but the problem comes from the fact that no one knows just how honest and serious I am being when I tell them something when I'm drunk. If there is one thing in life that I absolutely abhor, it's not being taken seriously when I'm being completely honest. The fact that most people dismiss what I am saying as being nothing more than the liquor talking works in my advantage for keeping my secrets secret.

I honestly really, really hate being drunk. Why? Because I'm no longer in control of myself and I have no idea what I may say or do, which can lead to VERY serious consequences. When I drink I remain a very jovial and fun drunk 95% of the time. Most people find me to be very entertaining and funny when I'm drunk, which is actually a pretty good thing.......as long as I stay that way. Occasionally something will happen that will bring up vivid flashbacks of past trauma, this is when not being in control of my personality and reactions becomes a very serious problem and could very easily prove to be fatal for me.

There have been a few instances in the past where something will occur to trigger a flashback within my mind and I will very abruptly go to very dark places. Fortunately for me, every time that has occurred I have been with safe people who have known that it was unsafe for me to be alone and unsupervised. The last time this sort of thing occurred was less than a week after my wife left me on the island and I came across a cougar, who had far less then Honorable intentions (a story for a later time). Now a LOT of trauma has occurred for me in the last seven years and I have suicidal thoughts on a regular basis (just this morning in fact). I even have two different plans to accomplish said task, neither one of which I have access to and my physicians have been made aware of both plans. At this point in my life consuming anything that would lower my inhibitions or lessen my control over my thoughts would be very ill advised since I would have no rational control over suicidal impulses. I don't consider this to be a bad thing though and really don't mind, I tend to want to wander through life with my senses and mind as sharp as they can be. I've personally seen too many times what substance addiction does to people and given my familial history, it's just another reason for me not to tempt fate. Mood altering substances just aren't for me, though I'm glad for people who can enjoy them.....in moderation.

Resentment: The art of drinking poison and expecting the other person to get sick.

"Only the unimaginative resort to violence."

I just came up with that statement above, though I seriously doubt I am the first to ponder those words. Recently I established with a new psychiatrist and had to go through the usual screening process and there are always questions regarding anger issues. I told my psychiatrist that I don't have anger issues, I have resentment issues. To some this may seem like splitting hairs, but to me it's a very distinct difference. In my mind, people with anger issues are people who are prone to outbursts of violence and/or destruction. I'm not saying that I don't have a temper or aren't prone to angry outbursts, I'm just saying that I'm not an angry person in a violent sense. This is important to establish in light of all of the recent shootings and whatnot perpetrated by people with serious mental illness. I am NOT a violent person, I abhor violence in all of it's forms. I would never bring myself to do someone else any physical harm, it's just not who I am........ that being said, physical wounds can be healed, emotional wounds take far longer to resolve and leave deeper scars.

Me and resentment go back a long way, a very very, long way. I've had resentments against people since my earliest memories (frequently resentments are the only memories that I have of my childhood). Due to the multiple levels and sources of abuse I suffered growing up, I had to develop ways to survive and give myself a reason to keep on living. Solitude helped me to survive and the idea of vengeance gave me a reason to keep living. Once again, I am not a violent person, nor do I ever want to be one. If violence is going to be how I was going to get even with those who abused me, what would I use in its stead? Simple. I want those who wronged me to know exactly what it feels like to be me. Hated. Misunderstood. Flawed. Broken. Stupid. Worthless. Less than human. A waste of time. Nothing.

To make someone else see the misery of my existence would be the absolute worst thing that I could possibly perpetrate upon another person. That speaks of how much I value myself and the pain I live with. Just once I would like to see the horror on someone's face when he or she sees what emotional pain I've endured...........that's never going to happen though and when opportunities present themselves for me to capitalize on, I rarely act, if ever. I have too much compassion, even for my enemies. Occasionally someone will fall prey to their own doings, but I almost never have a hand in it.

So I have compassion, that's great, right? Yes, I have compassion.......but I still carry the resentment with me. The resentment I have for people continually poisons my soul a little each and every day. Recently I suffered a pretty serious betrayal by numerous coworkers, one that has left me extremely bitter. On one hand, I know that they are human beings and that we all work in a very toxic and taxing work environment. One where there is virtually no acknowledgement or positive feedback from anyone other than our peers. On the other hand, the one rule I would never break would be to sell someone out like I was. We may work in a hell hole, but we are all suffering the same in said hell hole. We need to have each other's back and we need to support one another when we stumble. I've seen coworkers stumble and do things I did not approve of, but I NEVER sold any of them out (unless it presented a risk to our patients). I always let them struggle a bit to understand and come to grips with what they had done......and then I would offer my hand and support to that person. Well, I stumbled recently, more than once. In fact, I fell flat on my face. I got up, tried to dust myself off, went back too early......and got hit by a proverbial bus. Only two people held out their hand in support during any of this turbulent time for me. One is a physician and the other is someone who also knows a lot about silent kinds of pain. The rest stabbed me in the back for the favor of someone pushing an agenda. Someone who has showed time and time again that she is only out to make herself look good and will burn anyone to accomplish that goal.....and will burn those same people that betrayed me as soon as the opportunity presents itself without a second thought.

I am so bitter. I am so resentful. I want to have revenge on each and every one of those involved. I've said before, I'm always watching, I always listening, and I'm always gathering data in case situations like this arise. Worse yet, I can be very subtle, devious,  and manipulative when I want to be. Information control (to hide my true self) is an every day activity for me.....turning that ability on others wouldn't take much imagination on my part and I'm VERY articulate. Since I work with a bunch of human beings, full of personal quirks and faults, I have no want for information, it's all there for the taking.

Numerous opportunities have already presented themselves and though I hunger for vengeance so much, I can't bring myself to actually take it. Of course, that makes me the better person.....or does it? I still lose at the end of the day because the resentment never goes away, nor does the hurt. So I go with the other option that I've always relied on: solitude. The cycle continues.

Going your own way is hard

One thing that I'm assaulted with every day is the reminder of just how different my lifestyle choices are from from your average 41 year old male. To begin with, I'm single and have been for nearly four years now. Most men my age are married, many on their second marriages. Also, the great majority have families, which has never been a goal of mine. Being single at 41 isn't the easiest thing if you are actively looking to find a soul mate or companion. However, I have all but given up the pursuit of a relationship within the last 3 years, primarily because I abhor dating and finding women who I connect with is next to impossible. Still there is a societal pressure for people to be in relationships and I guess I feel like I'm a bit of an oddity (which is a recurrent theme).

Back when I was married in the mid 2000s, it gradually became clear to me that the standard, "get married, buy a house, settle down, and have kids" idea of life was not going to work for me at all. That sort of thing just seemed too boring to me. Now I'm not criticizing those who went and did just that, I'm just saying that it was not the path for me. Unfortunately by late 2006 things were beginning to become stale in my marriage, it was clear that I was unhappy with the way things were going, and I didn't care for life in Spokane in general. Early in 2007 my wife proposed moving to Kauai, something I was originally reluctant to consider out of logistical reasons, but I soon came around to the idea. I knew going into things that we weren't going to be able to imagine how different life on one of the less populous islands in Hawaii was going to be for us and I did my best to convey that to my wife. We decided to move forward with the idea and before we knew it, we were fully committed. It was decided that I would move over to the island early to find us a place to live and start getting things settled while my wife took care of things in Spokane.

Within a few days after arriving on the island, it became very clear to me that moving to Kauai was exactly the sort of adventure I was looking for and I embraced my new lifestyle with gusto. This proved to be the final nail in the coffin of my marriage though. My wife arrived 4 weeks later and was immediately taken aback with the changes that had occurred within me. Worse yet, instead of embracing the lifestyle and culture like I had, she went into culture shock and quickly began to panic and become depressed. I tried to encourage her to embrace our new surroundings, but it was just too much for her. Finally, after only 6 weeks on the island, it became clear to me that things weren't going to work and that my wife needed to move back to the mainland. I finally told her that she go home even though I loved her and wanted her to stay with me. She told me that she no longer recognized the person I was and told me I should stay on the island to pursue my desires. So my wife flew home to Spokane on the very day that our two dogs were due to fly over to the island. It was decided that I would keep Jack and that she would take our other dog. She left that morning and Jack arrived later that afternoon.  I wanted my wife and I to part (and remain) as friends with the understanding that our lives were just going in two different directions. Unfortunately that was not to remain the case as she renounced me shortly after returning home, stating that I was going to hell because I'm and atheist and she began dating one (and eventually marrying) one of the groomsmen in our wedding. That's neither here nor there though, I wish them well and hope they are happy together. The important thing is that Jack and I were now free to pursue our adventures together on Kauai..........

........and many adventures we did have. Unfortunately for us, the saying "be careful what you wish for" became a running theme in our lives. Though I did my best to make to most of things while on the island, things just just weren't in the cards to work out for Jack and I. Make no mistake, he and I did A LOT of amazing things there, things that I will never forget, but there were far too many obstacles and trauma for it to last. So just two years later, Jack and I found ourselves on a plane headed back to the mainland. Despite my best efforts to make things work and make Kauai our new home, my dream had failed.

To say that we crash landed back on the mainland would be the understatement of the century and it took over a year before we had our own living space again. It was at this time that the full realization of just how different what we had just done over the previous two years began to occur. During those two years, most of my friends had either moved on, settled down, bought homes, had children, or all of the above. In addition to those things, life on the island had radically changed who I was, both in very positive and some negative fashions. I had seen and done things that no one I knew could relate to or appreciate nor was anyone really that interested in what any of those experiences were. This was mostly because of the what I listed above, especially in regards to having children (I'm not knocking family life at all). Worst of all, the negative experiences and trauma I experienced through the divorce, living on the island, falling into debt, and coming home to find all I had left was Jack and my car, really poured gasoline on my preexisting mental health issues......then there was my sister's suicide (something to be discussed at length in the very near future).

Coming to grips with the person I am now has been a very arduous process over the last six years, something that has been greatly complicated by numerous unfortunate events and circumstances. Between my experiences and mental illness, I now find have a very difficult time forming bonds and relationships with people. To be succinct, I feel very different from everyone, almost alien at times. It is this concept that I probably struggle the most with. Like I said above, being 41 and single without children is a little outside the social norm. My experiences on the island give me a somewhat unique outlook on life when compared with the average person living in Montana. On top of that, I never have really fit into any existing social category, my pursuits and interests are about as widely varied as you are going to find in an individual. I shun almost all forms of mainstream media (TV, cable, radio), I'm an atheist, and I work evenings in the basement of a hospital. I recently came to the realization that my idea of what a 41 years old, single male is "supposed" to be doing at this point in his life and what I want to be doing are two different things entirely.

Going my own way is really hard though, especially when I have such a strong desire to be accepted and have a sense of belonging. Missoula is a good place to live as far as communities that accept people who do their own thing goes. People tell me that I need to find a group to associate myself with. This is very sound advice, but I have pretty serious trust issues and social anxiety. I'm tired of trying to fit in anywhere though, I just want to be free to pursue any interests that I want to without fear of any rejection, be that real or perceived. I have to learn just who I am, what I really want to do, try to make connections with people, and absolutely must learn to accept myself. I'm very proud to be unique and different, but I'm ashamed at the same time. I have no idea where I'm going at this point in my life and I really wish I could figure that out or at least get an idea of it. I must always go my own way though, it's not going to be easy, but I must do it. Hopefully answers and some measure of companionship are out there for me.

Meaning and complexity through subtlety and misdirection

Most people who work with me will attest to the idea that I am a very outspoken, sometimes bold and/or brash, and always opinionated individual. To those people it would seem that I am a very easy person to read or interpret, but they couldn't be more incorrect if they tried because that is exactly what I want them to think.

Most of things I say at work are very calculated sorts of things to give people a sense of what I want them to see and more importantly, keep them distracted from what I don't want them to see. They may think they know exactly what I'm thinking or what I'm implying when I say something, but like I said above, that is exactly what I want them to think. There are a few whom I work with that are what I like to call "safe individuals", but the vast majority are too petty and wrapped up in there own problems to look beyond themselves to try to understand someone who is layered in complexities. I could be thinking of ways to end my own life and everyone at work would be thinking about how good of a mood I'm in. Our medical director, who happens to be a trusted friend, remarked one day about how well it seemed that I was doing. I told her that's exactly what she was supposed to think and that I had been thinking of taking my life that very day. That's how good I am as disguising what is going on underneath....most times.

If there is something my sister and I have in common, it's the ability to tell people exactly what they want to hear at any given moment to keep them away from the truth or honest feeling moment. It's almost a game for me sometimes at work, seeing how far away from the truth I can keep them. To those who can't see through my deception, I appear to be flippant, cold, and insensitive.....and that's exactly what I want them to think. In truth, the exact opposite is true, I am extremely, sensitive, emotional, and compassionate, but usually only show it when playing devil's advocate or when under extreme stress and don't have the energy to keep the subterfuge going. I these tactics of deception as a test of sorts because it's a great way to see who is capable of seeing through the complexities of the performance that I'm giving. The most interesting part is that there usually three or four layers of truth to be deduced, each gaining in complexity the deeper you get. To try to peel these layers back is to really get to know who I am and what really stand for. You have to first see through the deception and most individuals never see past that and see only me at face value. People who know better see that almost everything that comes out of my mouth is very calculated and is designed to keep people away from the truth.

Now, many would argue that such a duplicitous nature is unsavory, but those are the types who aren't going to be able to understand my true thoughts and intentions. The truth is that I am a very sensitive individual and it is absolutely necessary that I hide that information from people that aren't going to respect or understand that fact. I've been hurt too many times by people willing to take advantage to my soft and sensitive nature to disastrous effect to my psyche. Four years ago, someone was smart enough to make it through all of my defenses and gain access to almost all of my most sensitive wounds. Unfortunately her intentions were anything but benign and she did untold amounts of damage to me before I was able to extricate myself from her web of lies. Thus the necessity for the barrier maze, those who choose to navigate it are under extreme scrutiny from me at all times in order to discover their character and intentions. If I judge someone to be safe, I usually will give access to a few upper layers of my true personality for starters to see what they do with the information. Those that are judged as a danger encounter more and more complex illusions, false statements and diversionary tactics.

As it stands right now, only one person I work directly with has any access to anything other than diversionary webs I weave. No one from work has access to this or my Facebook feed either, so my secret will remain just that. Facebook friends beware though, I would be lying if I said I only behaved this way at work. When I'm doing poorly and don't want anyone to know what's really going on inside my head, I use these tactics with gusto because I don't want anyone to get wind of the conflict.

It all boils down to the fact that I don't want interference or manipulation from outside parties, especially when it comes to very personal, sensitive, and private issues that can be easily misunderstood or downright incomprehensible to anyone save for those who have been there. Please don't take any of this personally, these are all defense tactics to keep me free from harm and manipulation. Like I said, the truth is there within everything I say and do, it's purposefully difficult to discern. That being said, if I say I am being truthful, that is ALWAYS to be taken at face value because it is the truth. It should be noted that I have warned my physicians about things I will say, do and ask for when in extremis, but don't think I don't have backup plans up my sleeves.

I am being honest right now by saying that I'm not suicidal at the moment. That being said, there is a very significant chance that I will die by my own hand in the future. If that moment does indeed arrive, there will be no warning or cry for help, for I want my decision to mine and mine alone. This is going to really upset people who actually read this drivel, but the truth is the truth. From a statistical standpoint, people with diagnoses similar to mine have less than favorable prognoses. To be honest, I would prefer to accept death on my own terms, there is a certain level of courage in that. My sister was brave enough and had to clarity to see what the rest of her life was going to be like and she chose to end her suffering. Though I miss her every single day and will do so for the rest of my life, I will always respect her decision and the courage it took to end her nightmare.

So there it is, the truth....or is it. I'm already formulating strategies to keep people from getting too close to me as a result of this information. Yes, I am taking a huge gamble by revealing all of this, but I am more than confident that I can deflect any further inquiries into the truth......it's all a game really.

A Dingo's guide to behaving at the vet.

It's funny how people's dogs reflect their owner's personality quirks and that most certainly applies to both of The Dingoes. Dingo Jack has the essence of mischief and offbeat sense of humor that I frequently display, particularly when I'm at work. Dingo Carter on the other hand definitely represents the focus I display when pursuing things I loves (his ball is his life) and my tendency to be surly and antisocial at times. Both of The Dingoes are very intelligent and are very good at problem solving in their own ways. Since they are Dingoes and have the essences of my personality taken to the extreme, public outings can be very embarrassing for me......especially when we visit the vet.

Where these two go, mischief and mayhem are sure to follow.

Last week I made the decision to have Dingo Carter's front dew claws removed (at our vet's suggestion) since he seems to rip one off at least one every three to four months. I always dread going to the vet because The Dingoes always seem to go out of their way to showcase just how unruly they can truly be. I started the day out by having to drop Carter off at the vet before 9:00 in the morning, which is an ungodly hour for me to be up because I work until 11:30 at night most days of the week. This means that Jack was going to be home by himself for most of the day, something that very rarely happens these days since the main reason I adopted Carter four years ago was to keep Jack company when I'm gone. Carter gave me a very forlorn, "They are going to kill me!", look as I was leaving, which was very effective at pulling my heart strings. I then ran errands for about four hours knowing that Dingo Jack was at home alone and most likely was up to as much mischief as he could into. I was not disappointed when I got home to check on him.

To start with, Jack is pretty bonkers whenever I come home, but today it was like he had done several lines of cocaine while I was gone. He pretty much bouncing off the walls and ceiling and damn near tore holes in my shirt with his claws from jumping all over me. It was then that I realized I had made a grave error, I had forgot to put up the (supposedly Dingo-proof) kitchen garbage. Jack has never been able to knock over the squat, rectangular stainless steel garbage can I have, but he has devised a method of extracting the garbage sack, thus eliminating the need to knock the can over. True to his reputation, there was garbage strewn throughout the entire apartment, all of it licked as clean as possible or torn to shreds. It was quite clear that Dingo Jack was very proud of his cocaine fueled garbage frenzy.

I then had more errands to run, so I left Jack at home to do even more lines of cocaine in preparation for his visit with the vet later in the afternoon. When I returned, he was more than ready to go and was sporting a very disconcerting look on his face. It was at that time that I knew I was in for an epic Dingo experience at the vet. First we had to drive all the way across town in late afternoon Missoula traffic, which was heavy that day. It should be noted that both Dingoes absolutely abhor the new Dingoemobile I bought back in June of last year......primarily because they have to ride in the back instead of up front with me. Both of them have been loudly protesting this unjust arrangement ever since and by protesting, I mean howling like banshees every time we go anywhere. Jack decided he was going to "cry like Nancy Kerrigan" for the duration of the journey and cry he did....with gusto. If you've never seen the phenomenon, go here: Cry like Nancy Kerrigan

"Why? Why? Why?!?!"

Finally the moment of my final atonement arrived and we pulled into the parking lot at the vet's office. For some odd reason, Dingo Jack's reaction to going to the vet is the polar opposite of Dingo Carter's (primarily because Jack hasn't had an anal abscess that had to be lanced or dew claws to rip off, so he really has never had a bad vet experience) and he immediately switched to "LOOK HOW MUCH COCAINE I DID!!" mode. The one vet tech that works at the office knows us well and I can hear her sigh audibly every time I walk in the door with either or both of The Dingoes. This is where the experience switches to one of extreme frustration and embarrassment for me. In fact, I'm pretty surprised I didn't spontaneously burst into flames from embarrassment during any given moment of the experience. We were quickly ushered into an examination room, lest Dingo Jack cause a serious scene in the waiting room (did I mention the office staff knows all about us?). Upon entering the room, the poor vet was promptly mugged by the cocaine charged Dingo Jack and his first comment was, "He sure doesn't act like a dog who is nearly nine years old." I was tempted to correct him on his mistake, The Dingoes are NOT dogs. Jack genuinely enjoys the vet's attention and was more than happy to be up on the exam table......that is until it came time to examine his ears. As soon as the vet grasped Jack's right ear, Jack shrugged him off and snapped at him. I have NEVER seen him snap at anyone like that. Ever. Undeterred, the vet made a second attempt only to get a very up close and personal view of Jack's bared teeth. As far as Jack was concerned, this wasn't going to go down without the vet losing flesh or preferentially, a few digits for him to make a necklace out of and wear around his neck. The vet then produced a muzzle from out of nowhere and on it went.......which Jack then removed in less than the span of three seconds (not kidding), all the while laughing maniacally at our feeble attempts to deprive him of any of the vet's fingers. At this point, the vet was genuinely surprised and on the muzzle went, this time with me doing my best to restrain the Dingo while informing the vet that Jack had done more cocaine today than Charlie Sheen does in a week. Now, I've had to hold Dingo Carter in exams before and have been praised for how tenacious and effective my restraining techniques are. Cocaine Jack was far too much for the both of us and the vet said he needed to take him to the back to get help. I'm pretty sure I could hear a huge commotion coming from the back room with the sounds of items falling off of shelves along with profuse yelling and swearing as the office staff attempted to inspect Jack's ears, give him his shots, and trim his claws. The vet reappeared with Cocaine Jack a few moments later with all digits intact and no visible evidence of bodily harm, looking as though he had just had a brush with death itself and very relieved to have the ordeal behind him.

"Come any closer with that thing and you are going to lose some fingers, asshole."

As you have probably noticed, Dingo Carter has been absent for most of this adventure. This is because he spent the morning in surgery and the afternoon recovering. After the vet's near death at the mercies of Cocaine Jack, the vet returned leading a limping Dingo Carter resplendent in a cone of shame. Carter's misery was palpable and I think even Jack felt sorry for the state he was in. Carter was still somewhat groggy and VERY unhappy about the apparatus that was fastened to his head. Naturally, a cone of shame adds a significant amount of width to a Dingo's body and it was no surprise that Carter got it stuck on the door frame. One would think he would back up for a another try or at least step to side to get through the door. So pronounced was his displeasure that he just stood there with the cone stuck up against the door frame for several seconds giving me the most withering look I have ever seen him give. Eventually I scooped him up off the floor and placed him on the exam table so the vet come give him one last look before we went on our (less than) merry way. Getting the dogs out of the clinic and into the Dingomobile was uneventful.....except Carter repeated his "get the cone stuck on the door frame and refuse to move any further while giving a withering stare" routine. I'm pretty sure I heard another audible sigh of relief from the staff as we left the clinic.

By now it was five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and traffic was in full swing for us on the drive home. The usual "Symphony Of Sorrow" performance was extra exuberant with Jack once again crying like Nancy Kerrigan on lead and Carter providing backup vocals with his pronounced moaning. The symphony was so enthusiastic that we garnered many looks from people in vehicles next to us at stop lights, Jack in particular was very proud while Carter just wanted to get home and be done with the cone of shame. There was one final performance of getting the cone stuck on the door frame of the apartment by Dingo Carter. That was quickly followed by the removal of said cone of shame and Carter happily limped off to the bed to go to work in earnest on his bandages.

Ultimately I was able to cut Carter's bandages off a few days later without losing any of my own fingers to his bared teeth and it looks like Dingo Jack was able to recover from his cocaine binge. I also once again managed to escape from spontaneously bursting into flames from embarrassment, maybe next time will be the time my number comes up. I'm certain our vet clinic is happy to be rid of us for what hopefully will be another year, though that only gives The Dingoes that much more time to formulate their plans for maximum chaos, discord, and destruction.

Is this thing on?

Hello blog, it has only been ten months since I last wrote anything in this space. It actually seems like it was a lifetime ago given everything that has happened in that time. I wish I could say that thing have been going well, but really it has just been one very long train wreck.

Most everyone knows that my mother passed away in early June last year from complications of lymphoma. My relationship with mom was complex due to the long term abuse she gave me growing up and her death has been an extremely complex issue for me to deal with. Though we weren't close over the last 15 years, she left everything to me in what is undoubtedly the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I am eternally grateful for her generosity, it shows that despite everything that happened between us, she genuinely loved me as her son. Having to settle mom's estate and sell her condo was more than a challenge for a man who has a multifaceted mental illness and mood disorder. Fortunately for me, mom's good friends adopted me as one of their own. They are all very, very nice people and I genuinely appreciate them.....but they aren't the sort of people who are going to understand the inner workings of someone who is as complex and (dare I say) broken as I am. I actually ended up selling mom's condo to her friends, who had just lost their home in a fire. These people needed help so I sold the condo to them for far less than it was worth (much to the dismay of my aunt and father). This was a "pay it forward" moment for me, mostly because I know what it's like to suddenly find yourself without a home and no belongings whatsoever (when I crash landed back on the mainland after living in Hawaii for two years). I would like to think that was what mom would have wanted me to do.

Despite the fact that mom's friends have adopted me, I am almost completely alone right now. My best friend in Spokane stopped talking to me about this time last year. This is primarily because he has been displeased with me for years now over my activity levels and my weight. I'm fat. There is no way around it. I know it and trust me, I HATE IT. Unfortunately, I live with a pretty serious case of Complex PTSD, an unspecified personality disorder (this is a new development), bouts of severe depression, and extremely low self worth. To say I hate myself would be the understatement of a lifetime. Over the last few years it has become increasingly difficult for my friend in Spokane to hide his displeasure with me over how lazy he thinks I am. Of course, Matt has lead a relatively easy life, he has no mental illness, he wasn't abused as a child, he didn't lose a sibling to suicide, he didn't have his entire world come crashing in on him at any point in time, let alone numerous times.......and he has no reference for any of these things, so instead of compassion, he has contempt.

Being betrayed (more in this later) and abandoned by friends isn't anything new to me, it just never gets any easier. Matt was the last bastion of friends I had from before my Kauai days. We used to ski and mountain bike together a lot. Over the last couple of years mountain biking with Matt hasn't been fun for me because every time we would go out he would try to push me as hard as he absolutely could in an attempt to get me to lose weight. I don't like being pushed by anyone and I actually lost interest in mountain biking over the last couple of years because the pressure he put on me. Every time he would call over the previous two years I would have to lie to him about mountain biking or going to the gym because there would always be this awkward pause and change in his tone with me if I ever mentioned I wasn't doing either. Matt has never been the most compassionate person I have ever met, nor has he ever really understood the things that I have been through over the last seven years (specifically Carly's suicide). He called me after mom's death and of course, asked me if I had been going to the gym or mountain biking. Naturally, I had not been doing either of those things because I was too busy taking care of things concerning mom's death. The last time I heard from him was a text a few weeks later inquiring if I was getting out on the bike with the dogs while I was in Helena, I said that I hadn't had the time and I haven't heard from him since......though it has never been very far from my mind. In fact, I obsess over it frequently.

When you have trust and self esteem issues, it is extremely important that people who are close to those with these issues be supportive, accepting, and as understanding as is humanly possible. I have a serious mental illness, it is not tangible, it is not plainly defined, it is never logical, nor is it very obvious. It is insidious, persistent, and very debilitating. I want to be normal, I want people to like me, I want to get up and function like a normal person every day instead of wanting to stay in bed or never leave my apartment. I want to be happy.....so much. I'm so tired of hurting inside. I'm so tired of hating myself. I'm so tired of trying so hard to convince myself and everyone else that I'm a good person. I'm tired of being left behind or betrayed. I'm tired of being tired.

Like I said above, I have serious trust issues and events over the last year have on poured gasoline over that fire. The remaining elements of my family have absolutely zero idea who I am, what I stand for, what my interests and pursuits are, what I do for a living, how intelligent I am, or how delicate I am....which is fine. It is nearly impossible for me to ask for help from anyone and that goes double for those in my family. By the time January rolled around, things were absolutely falling apart at the seams for me. Numerous events at work had pushed me beyond my breaking point and it became painfully obvious to me that I wasn't in control of myself any longer. So I decided to take a leave of absence in order to try to get some things back in order in my life. I made the mistake of mentioning this to one of my relatives....... to disastrous effect. When placed in a conflict situation, I try to be as honest as possible while not being inflammatory. Unfortunately the person I was trying to confide in became angry with me and I dropped a pretty huge bomb on the person (not in anger, I was just being honest). As usual, I was treated like I was being unreasonable and didn't deserve to be upset. The underlying message? Jon does not matter. I did my best to inject some structure back into my life during my leave and did have a small degree of success. One area of constant anxiety was my work situation. Though I was out on medical leave, I knew that because of the extreme lack of staffing levels within the lab I was causing a lot of people a lot of inconvenience. This weighed heavily on me and I chose to return to work much earlier than I should have........and I paid the price for it.

The second day of work after I had returned was on a Saturday during a very bad winter storm here in western Montana. Unfortunately, there was a serious wreck on highway 93, south of Missoula with numerous trauma victims. The worst victim came to our hospital and a bleeding emergency was called. Shortly before mom's death, I had been involved with other departments in the hospital in updating our bleeding emergency/trauma protocols. I had two reservations about the new policy while we were still debating, but mom died soon after the preliminary meetings on the subject and I wasn't present to voice my concerns over the new process before it got put into action. Both of those concerns presented themselves to me that very night, the second shift I had worked since coming back (too early) from leave. Faced with a no win situation, I had to make a judgment call for numerous, complex blood bank science related issues. To those who know the intricacies of the laboratory science involved in transfusion medicine, I made the right call. To those who were just screaming for blood products, no matter what the cost, my judgment call appeared to be cold, uncaring, and made me look like I wanted to let the patient bleed out. Things rapidly became political and I reacted poorly to what happened next. I had to stand my ground in the worst way possible during a serious emergency for honest and legitimate reasons. It was not the sort of call I wanted to make, but it was the call I had to make at the time. In hindsight, my judgment call on the matter was neither correct, or incorrect......we just didn't have to protocol and guidelines to anticipate what had happened. Sadly, the patient's fate had already been decided before she had even arrived at the hospital and she died shortly after.

I have been involved in numerous trauma and bleeding emergency related events here at the hospital, including one just two months prior that I recently chronicled on Facebook. In that last event, we beat impossible odds and saved a young pregnant woman's life. It was the hardest night of my career and it was the finest night of my career. The only thanks I received for my sweat and tears that night was in inquiry into my performance, something that devastated me. The underlying message (again)? Jon does not matter. Now, here I was not three months later in a very similar situation. The dust hadn't even remotely started to settle before my actions were called into question this time. I felt cornered and when I feel cornered, I lash out. Now, before I go any further about my conduct I would like to add that my candor was not anything that the staff in the lab experience from other elements in the hospital on a daily basis. In fact, I would say that I actually did a great job in not coming completely unglued in the on the person in question. That being said, don't EVER call a house supervisor when you have an attitude problem. Big, dumb mistake, Jon. I was already in the middle of a raging forest fire and I decided to drop a 2000 pound bomb on it. By the time the house supervisor came down to deal with me, I had regained some of my composure and was in the middle of realizing just what I had done in the eyes of the emergency room staff as far as my judgment call went........which was going to be difficult for me to live with (even though I wasn't in the wrong) without what happened next. The house supervisor dismissed me/told me to go home. She could have physically struck me and it wouldn't have done as much damage to me and my fragile psyche at the time. To be told to go home during a crisis situation is the ultimate indignity for someone who takes his/her job as seriously as I do. That being said, I shocked her by apologizing for my candor (something no one has ever done for me at this institution), so much so that she allowed me to stay and see things through to the end. After she left the lab and the ER physician finally called an end to everything, I fell prey to my inner voices and fell apart entirely. If it weren't for the fact that one of my coworkers muttering that I was going to kill myself as I left and called the lab's medical director in concern, I wouldn't be here today. I left the hospital determined to kill myself that very night, I just had to figure out the best way of doing it. Our medical director (who is a friend and knows my entire story as far as my PTSD goes) got me on the phone and convinced me to go home to my apartment knowing that I wouldn't do anything to myself once I was at home with the dogs. I don't think I have ever been as fractured as I was then, there were pieces of me to be found everywhere. I had made and extremely difficult clinical decision that appeared to everyone not educated in laboratory transfusion medicine that I was just going to let a patient die, I had lost my temper with someone (I try so hard not to), and I had been asked to leave the hospital, my mind was telling me that everything that I have ever been told is true and that I should just do the world a favor and kill myself because I'm an awful person (in fact, just recalling that night has caused unwanted and intrusive thoughts to creep back into my mind).

Needless to say, I went back on medical leave for another two weeks......which was probably the worst thing at the time. I had to come to grips with what I had done while elements within hospital administration decided just what they were going to do with me. Now, my coworkers who were with me that night (who just so happened to be with me the night we pulled off the miracle on the pregnant woman) defend my actions to this day and tell me I did the right thing. That being said, that was not the answer the lab manager (not the lab medical director, they are two different people) and hospital administration wanted to hear. During this two week period the lab manager went around to numerous individuals in the lab for any sort of information on my actions over the last five and half years of my employment with the hospital. It has been demonstrated numerous times that I do not work with understanding or compassionate individuals, this along with the fact I had completely screwed everyone's schedule over in the last two months due to my medical leave, gave a lot of my coworkers no pause in assassinating my character. You have to realize that I was at home during all of this agonizing and obsessing over everything the whole time. Finally, a meeting with the lab manager and human resources was setup with me the day before I returned to work. I expected things to go poorly, but I expected my disciplinary action to only concerned with that single event (which it should have been).....oh, how wrong I was. I sat for an hour listening to our lab manager catalog all of my faults and (undocumented) misdeeds. I have never been counseled for anything up until this point in my career. There were specific examples listed that could only have come from the mouths of my coworkers. At no point in time were any of my accomplishments, achievements, my dedication to the lab, my compassion and caring for our patients, my technical abilities and expertise, or my work ethic highlighted. My character was flogged mercilessly. I left that meeting with my job, but I think it would have just been better if they had fired me. The lab manager was so relentless that one of the HR reps actually had to stop her because of the physical impact it was having on my (I was trembling violently and could barely hold back tears). The worst part is that she actually had the gall to tell me that everyone cares so much about me, yet they had no qualms in stabbing me in the back. I left chastised, despondent, and in shame. The things I was accused of doing were so horrifying to me that I left seriously pondering the idea of taking my life once again.

Now, I am not defending myself over losing my temper with the house supervisor. That was unprofessional and I am very ashamed of my conduct. I apologized for that and promised it will never happen again (which it won't). That being said, all of the other accusations leveled at me had nothing to do with the night in question and could be construed as a witch hunt of sorts. Going around and polling people the (extremely understaffed and overstressed, though people I was loyal to) lab looking for tidbits to use against me without asking for examples of positive worth is unprofessional, in my opinion. With the exception of a few individuals, it is quite clear that most of my coworkers sold me out and I hope they feel really great about themselves for doing so. I went back to work the next day and tried my best to pick up the pieces of my dignity that were left to be found. It was over a week before I would even speak to anyone beyond a sentence or two. Though in a moment that brought tears to my eyes, one tech who been with the hospital for over 30 years and was retiring the next day, told me that I was one of the finest techs she had ever worked with and that it was imperative that I remain the person that I always have been. Though I genuinely appreciate the compliment, that Jon is now dead.

Things did not get any better for me after that either The following week I had an appointment with my primary care physician for my release to work full time. I arrived approximately five minutes late for my appointment......because I woke up with a sinus infection caused headache of world ending proportions. My doctor's nurse was so rude (not the best way to treat a patient with an anxiety disorder) to me that I nearly left in tears. In fact, if I had treated a patient half as badly as I had been by this nurse, I would expect to be dismissed immediately. I love my doctor very much and it was only out of respect for her and my level of despondency to prevented me from notifying the office administrator to the nurse's behavior and demanding a serious reprimand and apology. What was the take home message (again)? I don't matter. Ever. To make things even worse, my therapist had been unavailable during all of this, so I had no professional support through any of this. When she did return, she notified me that she was scaling back her practice considerably and that day was the last day she was going to see me. Take home message? I don't matter and am so messed up that even mental health professionals can't handle me. I still haven't bothered to call either of the therapists she referred me to, I just don't have the energy to tell my story again in such a way to convey the magnitude of the challenges I face and I don't feel inclined to trying to build a rapport with anyone at this time either.

So, my best friend up and abandons me, I have no support system, the hospital hangs me out to dry, my coworkers stab me in the back, I can't even get any compassion from anyone even when I'm a patient, and my therapist picks the absolute worst time to cut me loose. At this point, if you don't walk on four legs and wag your tail when you see me, I straight up don't trust you and I don't want to have anything to do with you. I. hate. people. I'm done. I'm done trying to convince myself and the world that I'm a nice person. I'm done letting ANYONE get even close to me. I'm done caring about what people think of me. I'm done with being loyal to coworkers (watch out, I never stop watching, I never stop listening, I rarely forgive, and I NEVER forget). I am fucking done. If you don't like me? That's nice, go fuck yourself. I'm done hiding from the world too. Expect lots of visible tattoos in the future. Guess what? I hate your stupid, conformist, non-thinking, mainstream life. I'm hurt. I'm bitter. I'm done with people. I'm done trying.......and you know what? I don't care. I have my dogs, they love me and I love them....dearly. They will keep me walking this road until they pass away because if there is one thing I will NEVER do, it would be to leave my two best friends behind to fend for themselves.