A Command to Continue?
Yesterday was an especially painful, eye-jabbing day. It was one of those rare days when even the sunlight was painful to me. Usually it is only artificial light which pains me. Sunlight is so wonderfully diffused that even its shadows are easily seen through. Sunlight is one of my favorite meds.
I often obsess over roots during severe episodes. No psycho mystery there. I do believe the worst of the episodes come directly from the roots buried deep inside my wounded psyche, for both myself and my family. My most effective therapy is digging up tree stumps. Figurative meets literal as I focus my fissured energies on tracking, cutting and pulling tree roots out of the ground. I cleared the space from the top of my compost pile yesterday.
I contemplated anew using my "good" insurance to visit a doctor for the painful throbbing of my head. Been there, done that too many times. Carrying my schizophrenic son in for his shot had already given me more doctor smells than I can handle for this week. Again I sigh over the ill logic that paying him $529.61178 / hour out of pocket is not enough to allow me to mention my pain while I am already there. Let it be. It is the bright logic of the Light Ages. My "good" insurance does not cover psychiatric care and I am paying for my son's care on credit. I cannot afford my own therapy any more.
As I battered away at the tree roots above my compost pile, my cell phone rang in my pocket. It was a counselor from the VA. His kind voice was soothing in my ear as I reeled from the shock. In my decades of dealing with the system, I have NEVER received a phone call initiated by a government employee. Normally our overworked civil servants have to be chased down through the intricate mazes of bureaucracy. Not only did I receive a phone call, by the end of the dialogue, I had an appointment for that very day. Another unprecedented event!
In my own journey through the madness, I have learned that microwave solutions are more often delusions than miracles. The appointment was mostly consumed by computer SNAFUs, but the isolation was broken. Another wait and see contact was made. This morning finds me meditating the possibility that my unprovable companion sent me the unprecedented events as a command to continue my current course. Perhaps it is not yet time to begin my long walk.
I often obsess over roots during severe episodes. No psycho mystery there. I do believe the worst of the episodes come directly from the roots buried deep inside my wounded psyche, for both myself and my family. My most effective therapy is digging up tree stumps. Figurative meets literal as I focus my fissured energies on tracking, cutting and pulling tree roots out of the ground. I cleared the space from the top of my compost pile yesterday.
I contemplated anew using my "good" insurance to visit a doctor for the painful throbbing of my head. Been there, done that too many times. Carrying my schizophrenic son in for his shot had already given me more doctor smells than I can handle for this week. Again I sigh over the ill logic that paying him $529.61178 / hour out of pocket is not enough to allow me to mention my pain while I am already there. Let it be. It is the bright logic of the Light Ages. My "good" insurance does not cover psychiatric care and I am paying for my son's care on credit. I cannot afford my own therapy any more.
As I battered away at the tree roots above my compost pile, my cell phone rang in my pocket. It was a counselor from the VA. His kind voice was soothing in my ear as I reeled from the shock. In my decades of dealing with the system, I have NEVER received a phone call initiated by a government employee. Normally our overworked civil servants have to be chased down through the intricate mazes of bureaucracy. Not only did I receive a phone call, by the end of the dialogue, I had an appointment for that very day. Another unprecedented event!
In my own journey through the madness, I have learned that microwave solutions are more often delusions than miracles. The appointment was mostly consumed by computer SNAFUs, but the isolation was broken. Another wait and see contact was made. This morning finds me meditating the possibility that my unprovable companion sent me the unprecedented events as a command to continue my current course. Perhaps it is not yet time to begin my long walk.
Replies
Not mistaking it for therapy. Just the shock of receiving the phone call from a bureaucrat and benefit from breaking the isolation. I am horribly isolated right now. Beginning to lose my faith in the entire high dollar psych industry. Their current \"proofs\" are unemployable sons and staggering debt. Questionable proofs for 40 years of therapy.