Saturday, April 18, 2015

A Sharp Pain Between the Shoulder Blades III

      I was still not feeling well come Monday. More sleep would have been nice, if for no other reason than being unconscious would have made it tougher for the administration to make contact with me. I assumed someone would test the waters eventually. At some point, one of them was bound to happily jigger bug into my room t inform me a mental institution had a bed with my name on it. But I had to emerge because I had an appointment with Dr. Hiatt that morning. So I get up, got ready, and sat out in the hallway just passed the administrative offices with my sitter, Melissa, while we waited for the van driver to come around. Talk about putting myself out there.
     We sat there for fifteen or so minutes. I had been holed up in my room on the dead end hallway for days, so hardly anyone had seen me, even in passing. Pretty much everyone on the therapy crew scurried by on their way to pick up residents. Each greeted me. By chance, this older gentleman who liked to bring his tiny dog, Greeley, to visit residents came. I had not seen him since before Thanksgiving. His dog did little more than tolerate strangers putting him, but his owner believed he was doing a service and Greeley did not bite—he just looked like he would rather be anywhere else—so I pet him. It was a soothing experience, even for a cat person like me.
     Brock came out of her office and said hello as she passed by, but did not slow down to hear a response if I gave her one, which I did not. I did not know what to make of her by this point. How could she have made the sloppy decisions putting me in harm's way over the last week with not only no hint of remorse, but expect me to be friendly? Her strange behavior was becoming more obvious and scary.
     I lucked out by a quick encounter with Brock. I was not as fortunate with Paulette. Instead of speaking to me tersely while streaking by, she stopped to say hello. I did not want to look at her. If I did not make eye contact, perhaps she would take the hint and go away. The hint was too subtle. She asked how I was. I finally turned to look her in the eyes.
     “I'm fine,” I said as coldly as I could muster. I was depleted physically and emotionally, so it was not hard at all to effectively pull off frigid.
     Paulette briefly cupped her hand on my shoulder, smiled genuinely, and walked off. I began to wonder how someone who had worked as a social worker for nearly three decades could be so oblivious to a person's true feelings. I was certainly being careful not to at out, as I did not want to supply an reasons to justify a stint in a mental institution, but I was not hiding anything, either. Our last encounter was in her office when I told her what a horrible social worker she was. The declaration had to still echo in her mind.
     Melissa, bless her heart, stood beside me the entire time in an uncomfortable silence. I assumed she was still having more fun than I was.
     The session with Dr. Hiatt later that morning remains touchy. Depending upon who you ask, it is also much in dispute. Subsequent efforts to reconcile maters were--and still are--difficult because of professional butt covering by Lord only knows how many people. So for this and subsequent posts down the line, I am simply going to tell you what was said by whom at whichever point it was said. If I have been able to make heads or tails out of any of it, I will be certain to point it out. But do not get your hopes up for everything being wrapped up in a neat, little package with a bow on top.
     Keep in mind two things here. One, I am frustrated with my therapy sessions with Dr. Hiatt at this point. He believes my problem is spiritual in that I am not properly accepting grace. There is probably much to be said for that, but at a time when I think venting my concerns about my lack of a future would help me dig out from my suicidal depression than debating scriptural interpretation, but I found it impossible to drive him in that direction. Dr. Hiatt is a true believer. Nothing wrong with that, but I believed it was far more important to deal with pertinent issues on my mind. Now imagine how I felt knowing I was not only being involuntarily committed for presumably lack of progress, but I was told the involuntary commitment was Dr. Hiatt's idea. Add to the mix this is the first session afte I was attacked by Caligula, and you can imagine how upset I was when I say down on Dr. Hiatt's couch.
     Keep in mind no one in any position of authority at Oakhven had acting as though the Caligula incident was a big deal. Just because they blew the attack off as another day at the office did not mean I was not traumatized. There was a reasonable assumption Dr. Hiatt would be interested in helping me through said trauma. You know what they say about assuming. When he asked how I had been, I told him the whole story. He asked if I thought I had been moved in with Caligula on purpose. I told him about Caligula's strange behavior, dark fantasies, and his inability to keep his hands to himself. Dr. Hiatt did not say anything substantive in response, so I continued to describe the dead end room and its dilapidated condition. He finally said it sounded like I was a unruly teenager rebelling against tough love.
    I am going to give Dr. Hiatt as much credit as possible. The guy is the proverbial kid who wades through a pile of manure expecting to find a pony. He is that much of an optimist. Maybe one needs such an attitude to survive a long career in family counseling. Si I now think he believed oakhaven management had my best interests at heart. He had not endured my experiences with them, so he could not hold their actions in suspicion the way I did. So I do not believe he meant to be dismissive of my plight. But that was still the result. I was not going to get the attention I needed in the right areas, so I pretty much just grunted and nodded as we continued to discuss the meaning of "abundant life.” at this point, I began to think a mental institution might be a fantastic idea just to get away from all these bozos.
     The thought leads us into to something fascinating. At the end of the end of our session, Dr. Hiatt asked if I would like to increase our sessions to twice a week.
      “What about my involuntary commitment?” I asked dryly.
     “What involuntary commitment?' he asked.
     “The one you recommended.”
     “I didn't recommend you be committed. I wanted to increase the frequency of our sessions. It's Oakhaven that wants you committed You're scaring them, Jamie. You want to die!”
     I did not respond with anything relevant. He began checking his appointment book in order to schedule two appointments rather than one for next week. I did not pay much attention. The wheels were turning in my head. Paulette had originally told me Brock was the one to decide I should be committed, then changed her story to blame Dr. Hiatt later in the day after I had requested several times for an audience with Brock. Paulette denied ever telling me it was brock's decision. But of course she had. It had only been a matter of hours between the two stories she told. I felt an urgent need for Paulette to admit the truth.                

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