When the Helping Professionals Fail

     There are some general facts to which I subscribe and which are responsible to a large degree for my thinking and actions in certain key areas in my life.


a). The government is not responsible for my health, welfare, or happiness.
b). No other agency is either.
c). If I want something different, then I have to do something different.
d). It takes courage to ask for help.
e). It takes guts to get out when said help is becoming a hindrance.




     Within the past decade or so, I have experienced repeated actions of a particular agency-- whose described mission is to foster vocational rehabilitation among the disabled population who it claims to serve-- which appear to be contrary to its stated mission. The last straw was the supposed procurement of part-time work that I could have performed at home during my own scheduled hours. The job was temporary and seasonal. Although I'd been led to believe erroneously that the work itself would employ my ability to doctor photos [and it actually would not], I was willing to give it a go anyway.


     It was not to be. Contract was supposed to start mid-September until the work ran out sometime in December. I would have had bits of things to do throughout the year after that until the next cycle of mid-September through December [the busy time] and so on.


     State agency had to do its paperwork. Sister agency that was going to pay me for the first one hundred hours or so had to do its paperwork. Meetings had to be held. It became mid-October. Nothing was happening. I received word yesterday that my services would not be needed after all.


     I don't blame the employer for backing out. Business is business. Employer needed someone from mid-September, not from mid-October or afterwards. Neither is this one my fault. No love to the bean counters and pencil pushers for this state of affairs.


sapphoq healing t.b.i. says: I have referred myself to my own factoid labeled e). It takes guts to get out when said help is becoming a hindrance. I'm out. I have other options today. Screw your broken system. If you aren't going to help me, then get out of my way. 

Standards and Excuses

There was a time when I [briefly] had the services of an "art therapist."  I've written about her once before some years back.  But the story bears telling again since the passage of time may bring a clarity to the mulling over of past events and situations.  The woman was indeed a situation.

The last time I blogged about her, it was to register a public complaint about two things.  Her PhD was fake.  For 35 bucks and a copy of her "book," she was sent a degree from a certain mail-order university which gave "credit for life experiences."  Said university operated solely out of a slummy office in Hawaii or somewhere like that and I've heard that it has since been forced to move to Asia.  

She is not the only person in the universe who has hung out a shingle on the basis of a bogus degree.  There is a man in the same city who the state contracts to offer services to folks with traumatic brain injuries.  He also has a bogus degree.  Although the State was made aware of his situation, they chose to renew his contract offer that year and the one after.  He is still under contract with them as a "PhD" which he did not earn.

Last I knew, the art therapist was claiming to use her [real] bachelor's degree for her work.  The problem is that she still also uses the title of "Doctor."  I am equally sure that any insurance companies are reimbursing her under doctor rates.  She is not under contract with the State as far as I know.  She does offer expensive workshops for professionals to attend, in addition to taking on clientele.

The other complaint that I had blogged about was how I came to be discharged from her services.  She fired me over the telephone.  The reason why I was terminated is because I refused to go to her personal internist for medications.  I had my own professionals in place for that, including the shrink who understands t.b.i. and who is probably more qualified to prescribe psych meds for me than her internist is.  The conflict of interest should be obvious to anyone who knows anything about ethics.  It is not ethical for her to insist that I see one of her medical professionals instead of one of my choosing.

That particular blog post yielded a comment from a woman who claimed that "everyone loves" the art therapist-- as if that makes a difference-- and that the art therapist has helped a lot of folks.  I have no direct information on how many folks the art therapist has helped.  Nor do I have any way of measuring what "being helped" might evidence as.  My original complaints remained that her advanced degree was bogus and that she dumped me over the phone under less than ideal circumstances.  The fact remains that in the couple of sessions that we had, I learned a few things.  So I will not say that the woman is useless, because that is unquantifiable and not fair.

The idea that I am addressing in this post is the supposition that because we are brain damaged, we are granted a license to get crap work published or perform any employment for hire in a substandard manner.  The world does not have to adjust to me and my atypical neurology.  I maintain that I am the one who has to adjust to reality as it is and not the way that it "ought to be."  If I want the same rights as everyone else has, it follows that I have to hold myself to the same standards of performance that everyone else is held to.  I live in a state of constant irritation and frustration.  I don't get to impose my emotional state on those around me.  And I don't get to have special privileges on the basis of my whacked up brain.  The "art therapist" wrote terrible prose.  I read her "book" and I did not think all that much of it.  Being loved is the stance of an emotional infant.  Self-publishing terrible prose and having a diploma mill degree are not signs of achievement or self-respect.

I recently read a book by another "survivor" of a traumatic brain injury who works as a counselor.  It also demonstrated substandard writing.  I don't mean that I didn't care for the book.  I mean that the book was poorly written.  To be sure, her book was better written than the "book" written by the art therapist.  But it still was not a professional job.  The book by the survivor-counselor employed choppy sentences throughout it.  It also left out some key information that t.b.i.-ers and family members deserve to have in such a book as the one she wrote.

After my accident, I was no longer able to express myself in a clear fashion on paper or in e-mails.  I had to re-learn how to write sentences.  Since there wasn't any cognitive rehab in the works for me [due to insurance companies fighting over who would pay my medical bills-- the one three-day a week program that I qualified for refused my offer to pay cash up front without any sort of discount], I had to be in charge of my own rehab.  I learned how to write grammatical sentences again in a t.b.i. chat room and in a t.b.i. e-mail support group.

The world does not owe me a living.  I don't get to have slovenly standards for myself on the basis of my brain damage.  To be sure, my injury means that I have to work hard at daily everyday stuff that many people take for granted.  Nothing is automatic for me anymore.  The brain fatigue kicks my ass on a regular basis. 

The voc-rehab folks want to send someone to my house for an hour or two in order to watch me do housework and offer a few tips on body mechanics.  After this, the voc-rehab folks want to discharge me as a rehabilitated homemaker.    In other words, V.R. has not been able to help me obtain any employment, never mind meaningful employment.  I understand that I am getting dumped.  Oh well.   

Anyone who has visited me in my home is aware that a few tips on body mechanics will not in any way render me an adequate homemaker.  I continue to struggle greatly with initiation, organization, and stamina on a daily basis.  I keep pushing myself to find a different way of doing things even as I prepare to hire someone who will help me for several mornings a week with home maintenance.  Knowing that I need help is not an admission of defeat.  It is a sign of strength to be able to ask for assistance.  I am comfortable with that.

 My experience with the professional helpers and bean counters at the V.R. office has left me grateful to the few people in my life who have never stopped believing that I will again find my way to viable employment in spite of the obstacles that I face.  And I do know what I want.  My old dream of writing books has never left me.  It is something inside of me that demands that I write.  I have to write.  I continue to practice my writing in blogs and journals and forums. 

I've been published in many literary magazines [lit mags].  I have way more than fifty publication credits to my name.  And my stuff has appeared in three anthologies.  I've read at open mics.  And I keep on writing.  It is my hope to get good enough to land a book contract.  I anticipate having a self-published e-book ready for market soon.  If I live long enough, I hope to get good enough to get paid for my writing up front.  I figure that I am brain-damaged but I am not dead.  I want my stuff to stand on its' own merit.  I don't want to be known for my dysfunctional brain.  I want to be known for excellence with the written word.  And that means I have to commit to working toward the same excellence than any person honing a craft would work toward.  Those standards should not be lowered for me because of my brain.

Getting a bogus PhD from a mail-order university and getting a book published as a survivor with little regard for literary excellence both cheapen something of extreme value.  That something is to be known beyond labels.  If I am to be a citizen of the universe with something of value to offer, I don't want that something to have less professional quality than the works of people who are not impaired.  If my stuff isn't good enough to stand on its' own merits, I don't want it to be allowed to stand on the basis of "that person has brain damage so substandard output is excusable."  I'm here declaring that substandard output is not excusable.  Moving beyond my neurology requires excellence, not excuses.

sapphoq healing t.b.i.      

  

Forgive THIS or Against Forgiveness

A note on why this post is in this blog rather than one of my other ones: The article that prompted me to write this entry was twittered by someone in the brain rehab field.  I deal with the effects of my brain damage daily.  I thought this entry fit best here.  SAP

Forgiveness has become cheapened. 

We the entirely selfish self-centered ones have come to believe that forgiveness is something that we do to other people so that we feel better.  Furthermore, we engage in forgiving other people, whether they asked for our forgiveness or not; or have a suspect motive for the asking.  And we think that forgiveness is necessary to our peace of mind after victimization.  Naturally, the experts tell us that we cannot be mentally healthy if we do not forgive.

Forgiveness is not supposed to be a "feel good" process.  If I do not feel good about something that happened to me, you, or the world, forgiving the perpetrator or perpetrators is an exercise in mental masturbation.  The serial rapist will live to set fires and to rape again until caught.  The staff at the behavioral facility will continue to beat kids and teens in their charge.  The corrupt government will continue to spy upon its' citizens and silence the dissidents.  There should not be any "feel good" in knowing that these things will continue whether I engage in a psychological thought-twisting of questionable value or not.  What is clearly needed here is direct and meaningful action.

In the examples listed above of the serial rapist, the abusing staff, the corrupt goverment, none of these entities are asking for our forgiveness unless it is convenient to them to do so e.g. hope for possible avoidance of an arrest, a lawsuit, or a riot.  Even if they do ask for forgiveness, they have an ulterior motive.  To forgive in these circumstances-- unbidden, or when there is a suspect need on the part of the offender to have us declare our forgiveness-- is a betrayal of the self.  Not everyone has my best interest at heart, nor do they have to.  We are each of us alone in our own skins.  I will not bear false witness against my self in order to benefit you. 

Through life, there are events in which we have been the victim.  I was a victim.  I was a victim of abuse, rape, a house fire caused by an arsonist, a serious motor vehicle accident caused by an agressive and irresponsible driver.  I have not forgiven my abusers or my rapists or the arsonist or the man who inflicted me with the brain damage (a.k.a. traumatic brain injury) which has profoundly altered my life.  For one, they didn't ask.  And two, I don't feel a need to do so.  I am not full of bitterness.  I live a very full life.  I am happy. 

I have accepted that these events have happened to me. I cannot go back and undo what has been done.  This is reality.  The abuse was real.  The rapes happened.  The apartment building burned down to the ground.  The car got slammed into a house.  I do not accept that this stuff  "had to happen," or that "there is a reason" for them happening, or that they happened so I can "help others that those things [will] happen to," or that there a "benevolent gawd" wanted these things to happen, or that any gods "did it."  People did it.  Deities had nothing to do with it.  Ohhhhh, I sound angry. Yeah, I am angry. 

Why? because I am sick to death of people telling me or insisting to me that-- insert word of your choosing: the abuse, the rapes, the accident, any other word-- is indicative of a Grand Scheme which somehow gives meaning to my life and troubles.  I didn't believe those things when I was a believer.  I still don't.  And by the way, this whole notion of  "it happened so you could learn a lesson from it" is borrowed from the New Agers.

I have made my peace with the changes created in my life by the abuse, house fire, rapes, and my brain damage.  There is a deeper anger in my life.  I have lived through gross injustice.  The arsonist was never arrested.  The rapist that I was able to report got away with it. I have experienced the injustice of people getting paid off to look in the other direction.  I have lived through the injustice of paying for what someone else did to me.  I am angry when others experience injustice.  Stewing about it does not help.  Direct action helps.

 I am at times full of anger.  I consider anger to be part of the human experience.  I am not afraid of my anger.  My anger creates change.  I channel my anger into direct action to aid others in systems change. My anger informs me that something is wrong, not right, up, needs looking after.  My anger is crystal clear, not muddied.  Anger is my truest friend.  Anger, my anger at my situations and circumstances, is what propelled me into writing and submitting my writing so it could get published.  Anger was one of the factors that led me to setting up blogs.  Anger tells me that rather than feel helpless, I can join with others who are doing something about injustice.  And I have.  And will continue to do so.  My anger has saved me from internal implosion.  In choosing what I want to fight against and how I want to fight, I found more community.  And finding community can be a wonderful thing.

My peace of mind did not flow from forgiveness.  Because I did not forgive.  I wasn't asked to forgive the abuser, rapists, arsonist, guy who caused my car accident.  I don't have to forgive them.  [Only one person asked for my forgiveness: my primary care doctor asked for my forgiveness on behalf of all medical practitioners when I first told him about the professional who raped me].  Today, I am indifferent to their continued existances.  They are not in my life today.  I am certainly not going to go out of my way to forgive them.  Nor am I going to seek their forgiveness because "I had a resentment" against them in the past. 

I found my peace of mind from the work that I did in trauma-specific counseling.  I found self-esteem in spite of my trauma-specific counseling when I stumbled upon Nathanial Branden.  [Long story:  I will just say that there are times when the mental health professionals are crazier than their clients are].  I read The Pillar of Self-Esteem and many of his other books.  I did the self-esteem programs in the back of some of Nathaniel Branden's books.  I chose to put many of the things he talked about into practice.  After some healing from reaching inside myself, I found more healing as I was able to reach outside of myself.  The final healing is on-going.  I create healing when I connect with others in a fight against injustice and for freedom.

sapphoq healing t.b.i.





One blogger who wrote about it:
http://relentlessabundance.wordpress.com/2009/04/22/the-argument-against-forgiveness/

And another blogger:
http://itself.wordpress.com/2011/05/18/against-forgiveness/

Oh but we must forgive in order to experience good mental health:
http://www.guidetopsychology.com/forgive.htm

Even the Mayo clinic does forgiveness now:
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/forgiveness/MH00131

The article that got me to write this blog post:
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/heart-and-soul-healing/201301/9-steps-forgiveness

Non:sectarian definition of New Age:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Age

Sectarian definition of the New Age:
http://carm.org/new-age-what