I Still Believe

I come home from Bible study on Monday nights with such a longing to write in my journal, to make permanent the feelings and thoughts I experienced, to keep those things from slipping away by transposing them into words on a page-- but then I'm tired and go to bed.

It was hard to come back from New York after Thanksgiving. I once again re-experienced that old struggle with believing my life is boring, that by virture I am boring, and that if I dye my hair back to its natural color, nothing will ever make me stand out again. And I was very sad, and very restless. It only lasted two days. These things are never permanent, and that I must remember. But what I don't want to forget is that no one else has the power to take away the things I know about myself-- that I can't give away that power to someone else. If I do, it will take me right back to the way things were before. I am NEVER going back there.

Sometimes I think the reason I wish I were a farmer in the middle of Montana one hundred and fifty miles away from anyone else is that then I wouldn't know whether or not my life was boring. I'd have nothing to compare it to. I would just be.

Song of the day: "Holland Road" by Mumford & Sons

Sowing and Reaping

I stole that title from Kelly Bourque's blog. She wrote about how she was talking to her husband, feeling like her work as a therapist was feeling "heavy," asking him if it was always like this and whether it would get any better. His response was that she does always feel heavy when starting a new relationship with a client. She's sowing. Eventually she will begin reaping, and seeing the value in what she does.

Today is the first day in my new job that I saw TWO different clients who are both so stable, and doing so much better than the first day I saw them. The first is a 19-year-old girl who had been told her whole life that she has bipolar disorder, always in trouble and fighting and arguing, only to now find out that she is a pleasant, sweet, enjoyable girl who has depression as a result of uncontrolled ADHD. She is wonderful, and her mom is supportive, and they both are happy, and she takes Concerta and Celexa faithfully. The second is a woman in her 40's who came to see me in one of the most severe depressive states I have ever seen. It was difficult to even hold her attention, or redirect her thoughts, due to her nearly-spent overactive autonomic nervous system. After much education and encouragement, she is a bright-faced, well-slept, highly functional individual now who takes Remeron every night before bed and enjoys her life. It's true! The sowing is difficult, and tiring, and seemingly hopeless as you look across the expanse of dead, gray soil exhibiting no signs of life but only of fallow death. But the sprouts are starting to push through, and soon they will be tall and fruitful and filling the field with joyful green! It's hard to do this. But it's less hard when the reaping starts. Do not grow weary.

Gravity Always Wins

I need to journal more. I forget about my life so easily. I heard yesterday about a 22-year-old man with cerebral palsy who has perfect memory, all the way back to age 3 or something. I can't imagine that. Sometimes I hope that when we get to heaven, we'll get to look back over our lives and see why certain things happened, or what could have happened if something hadn't happened, or what the most important happenings in our lives were. Or maybe at that point we won't really care any more.

I need to figure out some things about my life. I feel like I'm currently in another of those life episodes in which you're sort of spinning your wheels. A holding pattern. Passing the time. Cognitively I know that's not true, and I hope what I'm doing here- in my job, my home, my friends- is mattering for eternity. But I feel like in the back of my mind this is a temporary position. I don't feel established in my career. I feel floaty and impermanent. I wish I could feel solid and permanent. Private practice? Inpatient drug and alcohol rehab? Indian Health Services? I don't know. And I battle inside myself, because I know that this position is meant to reach the neediest of the needy. I WANT to help the neediest. But I also want to feel solid and secure. Hmm. Maybe that's the problem.

Security may not be my ultimate calling in life. I long for it and desire it, but maybe that's a very earthly and fleshly desire. I tend to think of fleshly desires as those desires that are morally wrong and inherently sinful. Security is not sinful. But it is earthly. What would I gain from my perceived sense of security in my job? Peace of mind here on earth? Would that make me any more like Christ, or any more reliant on His provision and plan? Isn't that my ultimate calling? I think the point of life is to approach every day and every second with openness- not in an irresponsible way, but in a blank-slated way. What will this day bring? What will the Lord give me this second to face? It seems like life would feel more like an adventure when faced that way. But it also feels like non-reality. Hmm. Maybe I'll figure it out in the next second.

Song of the day: "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead

I Can Hear The Ringing of a Beat Up Old Guitar

Kari said last night at Sarah's going-away party that this is my time to figure out what I want in life. Amanda said it's a margin of space in my life that the Lord has created for a purpose. All I can think of right now is how I'll rearrange Sarah's room so it doesn't look like she's coming back tomorrow.

I can just see me and the dogs, wandering around the house and anxiously awaiting her return. I remember when I had my own life here. It wasn't that long ago really. And I'm not afraid of being alone. I sleep in a dark house the same as an occupied one. It's the being left behind that's so hard to bear. I love my sister. I'd rather go to Holland House with her than anywhere with anyone else. I'll miss her so much, and I'll see her when she gets back. But it's like I feel like something should happen in my life while she's gone. I can't stand the idea that I'm frozen, pacing in a holding pattern, while the rest of the world goes to Tajikistan, or New York City, or the movies on a Friday night.

Song of the day: "Even If It Breaks Your Heart" by the Eli Young Band

I Don't Do Too Much Rambling These Days

I'm back from Colorado. Sarah is moving to Tajikistan. I don't even know if that's how you spell that.

There's such a sad letdown after a good vacation. I think this particular kind of vacation causes it the worst of all. So much beauty that "beauty" doesn't properly describe it. So much peace, hanging in the air, drawing hummingbirds, and rain. Waking up because the sun is shining in; falling asleep because it's dark and starry. Using all your muscles to walk and walk and walk, and your eyes to see, your lungs to breathe that perfect mountain air. It makes your thoughts rest, makes you feel young, even if you are young already. Even if you've been old since the day you were born. Flowers blooming at 14,000 feet. Fear, and accomplishment, success, and no competition all at once. Being with family, everything utterly familiar, requiring no adjustment or falsehood, no makeup, no cute shoes. Just warmth in the cold.

I try to stop thinking that I wish I could stay forever. People say it wouldn't be as special if it were routine. But I don't know. I don't want to start over with someone new. I want to be with someone I know, who knows me and loves me, wants my very best, someone I would risk my life for to make sure they didn't fall off the edge of the trail. Someone who laughs at me and hurts my feelings and then everything's okay without being fake. I just don't even know how to find that. Go home? Go somewhere new? Stay here? Go as far away as Tajikistan? Maybe there's familiarity there.

Song of the day: "These Days" by Jackson Brown

Somewhere Down the Road You Might Get Lonely

If I have a student, this is what I will teach:

1. First, do no harm. Seriously. Choose the safest drug first, and if you have to move to something with more health risks but greater potency, that's fine. Don't feel pressured to jump straight to Depakote, or lithium, or Risperdal. Or Clozaril, for heaven's sake. It might really just be depression.

2. The therapeutic relationship IS the primary treatment. Was it Rogers or Beck who came up with that? I don't remember. But most of the healing comes from your showing a hurting person unconditional love and positive regard. That was Rogers. Actually, Jesus came up with that.

Song of the day: "Keep Me In Mind" by the Zac Brown Band

Tried To Make You Mad At Me Over The Phone

I know I'm adjusting to a new work environment when I've chosen my preferred bathroom stall.

Familiarity.

Song of the day: "Gotta Have You" by the Weepies

Bring Your Love to Life Inside of Me

I'm in my new office. My new Psych NP office. Well, "office" is a strong word. It's sort of an exam-room-turned-office. I have a sink and everything.

Things are so different here. I've been so very stressed and anxious, even though every day is laid-back and slow-paced. And last night I realized that that must be the problem. I feel like I'm not DOING anything. My day is not packed so full that I have no time to eat or think or let alone pee. I see a handful of people each day, and have written maybe one or two prescriptions. I feel like I'm cheating. I feel like I'm making more money to do less work. I feel like the people working SO hard and feeling SO frazzled out in the community mental health world are struggling along while I sit like a fat cat in my various locations waiting for people to come and see me. Oh Lord, please, use me in this position. Help me to change my perspective, to see that my purpose is not in being BUSY but in being EFFECTIVE for Your Kingdom. My purpose is in showing deep, unconditional love to those who have never or rarely received it. And my purpose in this particular place is using the skills I have learned and the insight and knowledge You have given me to identify deeper psychiatric issues that may require medical intervention.

I cannot evaluate my work based on numbers. That is what I hated about Centerstone! These are people, not billing encounters. They need to be allowed as much time as is necessary to bring healing to their hearts and minds. I am here because these places need me here. I am here to be available when someone needs me. I am not here to be another factory worker, churning patients through like chocolates on the Lucy-and-Ethel conveyer belt. This is what it actually feels like to be available to help people.

And I can wash my hands between patients.

Song of the day: "Love Come to Life" by Big Daddy Weave

Things I have learned from Centerstone:

I will NEVER name my child "Nicole" or "Tammy."

My Father Never Gave Me One

I hate HIPPA. I can't write down any of the names of my patients that I don't want to forget. Like my sweet patient with PTSD from all of her childhood trauma, always presenting to the office like a scared baby bird, liable to flit away with one miscalculated sudden move on my part, who just cried and cried when I said I was leaving. Like the sweet, frazzled mom and wife who had coped for so many years until she couldn't any more, and all it took was a little Prozac to change her life. Like the guarded, so country woman who could not sleep and could not sleep until I thought she hated me, only to find out that she wants to hug me when I tell her I'm leaving, so grateful for her full night's rest.

Song of the day: "Abraham's Daughter" by Arcade Fire