The Present Looking Into The Future


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I know.  I don’t call.  I don’t write.  Yet here I am wanting to talk school?

Alright.  My duel major for my Bachelor’s in Business Administration and Applied Psychology are already in the works.

From there I was planning my Masters in Psychology.

But.  Out of the schools I’m looking at, most don’t even offer a masters in psychology.  Even if they do, you need a specific quantity of credit hours from your undergrad to be in psychology.  My current undergrads just aren’t going to cut it.

But a third Bachelor’s in general psychology would.

And I can get that at the local really good university I plan to get my Psy.D. at.  It’s one of the best schools for psychology in the country, even. (But they don’t offer a master’s in it.)

But then.

If I’m doing that, and I’m already planning to get the Psy.D. in the end, none of the school I prefer even offer a masters in Psychology, and you don’t need the masters for the doctorate, why am I trying for the masters?  How much debt do I want?  How many degree do I intend to collect?  (The answer is now and always will be: All of them.) (Did you know federal student loan debt gets discharged when you die?)(Guys!  If I’m a student until the day I die, at a very old age or of any other natural causes, I won’t ever have to pay my loans back!)(Just saying: I could be a professional student.)(I mean, it IS looking that way anyway.)(Gotta catch them all!)(It took me a decade to get to school, I’m never leaving!)(People that like, I don’t know, chase down to get money from people who actually do this, please know I’m joking.)(I intend to use my degrees.)

I’m still toying with the Masters in Business Psychology which is the follow-up to my B.S. Applied Psychology.

But if I do that I might as well just drop my B.A. in Business Admin.  I’ve always argued business is a great foundation to anything, but at this point, I’ll pay someone with a business degree if I actually have a private practice. (Plus I think I’m just holding on tight because in my decade long fight for school, this has been the planned degree.  But I’m in school, I’m pulling noting but A’s, and I’m in the National Society of Collegiate Scholars.  Fight is over.  I can let it go.  Please don’t start singing that song.)

So that means I’m looking at the following for my full degree set:

  • B.S. in Applied Psychology
  • B.A. in Psychology
  • M.S. in Business Psychology
  • Psy.D. in Psychology

Then possibly med school which would involve pre-med and then the M.D.  It would have its advantages but it also time-consuming, expensive, and involves cutting open/up dead bodies.  We’ll see.

This makes sense?  I mean, I can always change my mind as I go, as long as I’m not mid degree.  Right?

Wait, I did tell you all I got invited to join the National Society of Collegiate Scholars, right?  I accepted.

 

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And ACTION!

Karen Marrs
According to the internet I’m part banana. And you could be up to 10% more or less banana than I.
http://www.funnyjunk.com/funny_pictures/4794434/Bananana/
Karen Marrs
You know, fuck opening a practice… I should go into the research side of things. Genetics, etc.
What DNA marker, if any, makes a person more predisposed to depression, etc? What can be done about it? Science is headed towards fucking with DNA to “fix” people, so why not play my role as a scientist?
http://www.cnn.com/2014/02/26/health/ivf-mitochondria/index.html?sr=fb022614threeparentbabies9p
It took them awhile but scientific research lead to the discovery of the correlation between the veins in the hands and fibro, now scientists have to decide how to use that knowledge to fix fibro for good.
I could do that shit!
Patrick Marrs
DNA = Chem -nods- you would be good at Chem
Karen Marrs
I slept through high school chem. It was at like 8AM. You do the math. Or I showed up late because I “missed my bus”, with Starbucks in hand. But shit, the Starbucks right there at and was walking distance from my high school. If they had given me means to buy coffee, real coffee, at school, I wouldn’t have been late to chem and I might have actually stayed awake.
Karen Marrs
If I did go into research my degrees in business would be pointless. I mean, I’m still getting my bachelors in that because that is useful no matter the field. Even science is a business, sadly. But I could do right from this bachelors to my doctorates. I need to rethink everything. I mean, I want to help people and with my own practice I could do that, but think of the people I could help on the research side of things? I could do what the big bang characters do, only at OSU.
Karen Marrs
And, here is where I go vain. Most people are right-brained or left-brained. I’m both. How many research scientists can claim that?  How many can really think logically AND creatively. Scientific research could use more creative thinking. When logic just doesn’t seem to be working, I’m really good at thinking outside the box. Fuck, my box doesn’t even exist!9:14 PM
My bachelors in business, my masters in psychology, then pre-med, then med. Then I go from there.
Patrick Marrs
This conversation is smarter than me which tells me that whatever you decide will be well-informed and ‘right’.
Karen Marrs
Holy hell
This feels so right!

And SCENE!

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I don’t do resolutions, but I guess I still have goals for the coming year.  Call them what you will.

  1. Read an average of a book a week ending the year at 52 books read.
  2. Read the entire Bible in full
  3. Write two blog posts a week ending the year at 104 posts written
  4. Keep my 4.0 GPA
  5. Have my financial situation  settled whether disability or having to find a job
  6. Make this year better than the one before it
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This has some controversy.  I told my mom about this and it felt like she was ready to disown me.  I think she is settling into it some.  All I can ask her for is support, if not understanding.  She doesn’t have to agree.

Neither do you.

With BPD comes black and white thinking.  You know this, yes?  Everything thing and person of importance is either white (good, without flaw) or black (evil, there is no good).  Things can start as one and become the other.  Things can bounce back and forward.  But seeing something as grey is nearly impossible.  We just have trouble reconciling that really good people make mistakes and no one is perfect, for example.  We are, all of us, flawed.

Patrick is my only grey.

But there is something exciting about those new white knights.  They show up on their gallant steads.  They’re nice to me, flirt with me, make me want to let them make me happy.  The excitement of new love blinding me to my Grey Knight, my one truest love.

Pat and I have a lot of issues.  We’ve worked through many of them and with some counseling we’ll find and then work through the rest.  In a world where things are black and white, I need the stability of my grey.  The person whom never judges me, never tires of me, never loses patience with me, loves me for who I am, and really sees me.

The biggest threat from him is the threat to leave.  This has been hashed out.

The biggest threat from me is my white knights.  This too has been hashed out.

Right now we’ll continue to live apart.  I need my space to sort shit out, as does he.  I have some soul-searching to do.  I’m still on the journey of self discovery, and right now I still need to do that without his help.

When the time comes to leave my current home, I’ll leave it for his.  We will live as husband and wife and we’ll be happy with it.

We’ll also be open.

I won’t search for white knights, I don’t feel that need, but when one swoops in I’ll let them be in my life.  No one can swoop me away from my Grey Knight, but my Grey Knight can’t offer me the feeling of new and exciting.  My Grey Knight can’t be a new toy, though I hate that term, it helps lay out the picture.

At the end of the night, my husband will be the one I return to.  He is the love of my life.  But I will date here and there.

I’m capable of being in a closed marriage.  But I’m also capable of the BPD taking over and causing strife as I resent my husband for trapping me.  The new toy calls out to me and it promises to free me from where I’m not happy, my BPD twists the situation.

This change allows for increased stability.

And I’m not the only one benefiting from it.  He has a special someone.  I trust them together.  And I see what she does for him, that I can’t.

A friend will come pick me up, is all my kids will see.  Nothing ever in front of them.  Or I’ll go out to hang out with a friend, the kids will see.  Discretion will be key.  Should they find out, they will be taught love comes in many forms and with many possible requirements and how to have an open mind.

But in a world where they would have to choose between mommy and daddy living together but mommy having special friends, or mommy and daddy living apart…  The house will be run with love and by happy parents.

The world should learn to judge not for they too can be judged.

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As I have struggled over the past few weeks I have been guided to the simple fact that I get a life and personality reset.  A blank slate to build myself, find myself, and who I am.  I can wipe the slate of who I am clean and decide from this point on who I want to be.

I spent a week mostly refusing to leave a bed, unless I was draping myself over a sofa, doing nothing but reading, sleeping and thinking.  There is a lot of thinking that can get done in a week.

During that time I reflected on what I like about myself.  What I like about the corner stones of my life.  What I like about the relationships, family friend and romantic, in my life.  What did I want to keep as is?  What did I want to lose completely?  What did I want to keep but that needed tweaked a little bit to make them healthier and happier for me?

I have this blank slate before me of who I am.  I wiped everything clean.  I immediately pinned back on the things I love.  I love my career and the company my career is with, so clearly I’m keeping that.  I love that I’m caring and giving, so that went back up too.  I’m still not happy with my marriage, so that stays off.  I have a friendship or two that I’m very happy with but that needs some tweaking here and there to make them healthier and happier for all parties involved.  What did I like about the friendships?  Keep!  What did I dislike about them?  Tweak or toss.  BPD traits were really getting in the way.  Interpersonal relationships will always be hard, no matter how stable I become.  Not that I’ve been stable as of late.

I’m listening to myself, my head and heart, as I do this rebuild.  I’m listening to the collective of those in my life.  If the general consensus is that something within myself needs fixed (hey, you  might want to go back on meds) I’m going to listen and take that into account on this rebuild.  Granted, I won’t shape myself to please any one person, but if everyone around me is saying the same damn thing, it’s time to take notice.  Even if it’s just one voice, but they are the authoritative voice, like say my boss and it’s work related, I don’t need to wait for the consensus to join in.  By that point my job is in jeopardy.

I am not the same person that went into the hospital.  I don’t yet fully know who I am, yet, but I’m going to like her.

So, my friend, will you.

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So on the morning of September the 19th I reported to work at the hour of 7:45 as scheduled.  I helped open the vault, opened drive thru, processed night deposit bags, all as planned.  And I waited patiently until my boss had time to give me at 9.

At 9 I sat my boss down and informed her I was in over my head and needed to seek help, hospitalization, before the end of the day.  The sooner the better, so I wouldn’t change my mind.  I spelled out why, I told her I was so sorry I was abandoning the branch, that I would be back, then made the decision that I was better off not finishing the day.  I was not in the place I needed to be to function as an effective employee.  I sold down my cashbox to zero.  I gave instructions for Sheldon, the ATM I control.  I clocked out at 10AM.

On the way out of the parking lot I called Pat, told him I’d be there within 2 hours, I needed him to drive me to the emergency room and just drop me off.  I drove to mom’s house, packed a bag of clothes and books (let us be honest, mostly books) and then I drove myself to Pat’s house.  Pat and the two youngest kids was ready for me, we piled into the car and he drove me to the ER and as per my instructions and deepest appreciation, he left me there.

I got to the ER at noon and spent 6 hours in the hallway with a minder.  They didn’t have a bed for me and there were a few of us, different reasons, she needed to mind.  Babysit.  I, however, was the good cooperative patient and was allowed both my book and my phone which was against hospital policy but even the shrink who did my intake didn’t see the harm since I was there of my own will and being cooperative.  She even let me fish out the charger and hand it immediately over so when my battery died it could get a fresh charge across the hall, out of my reach.  Which, I mean so much policy was broken there, so I understood the caution around the ease of caution.

6PM I was found a room in the hospital of my choice.  By 8 I was fully admitted, shown my bed, and settled in.  Uh, as much as one can get settled into a psych ward.

I was discharged the following Wednesday the 25th at 1:30.  7 days there including the day at the ER.  It was… Productive.

In those 7 days I read 4.75 books, didn’t attend a single group, and did all I could to self-sooth while meds kicked in.  Naps and books.  Books and naps.  It was effective.

Why did I go?  I was suicidal.  Plan, research, where, when, just needed the tool.  I was working on that.

Step back a bit.

So you may remember I stopped seeing my shrink awhile back, earlier this year.  I was stable, all was good, it was a mutual decision.  Then things spiraled out of control and in the  midst of that I lost my insurance.

So here I was with this mess piled on me.  I have all these amazing coping tools that I was using but it just got to be so heavy and I couldn’t find my way out and I couldn’t find the help I needed.  Not the professional help.  I needed my meds doctor back and I needed my meds back but without insurance and money I didn’t know how to do that.

I knew the office I see her at has government funding but I know the wait-list and the bureaucracy and my head was spinning in circles and I couldn’t see straight and all I could see was that I just wanted it to stop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stop.  I just wanted it done.  It being me.  My existence.  My pain.  My life.

I knew I needed help but I didn’t know where to turn so I finally decided my best bet was an emergency, short term fix, aka the psych ward, and that they were never going to release me without help on the outside world.  They might even be able to get me back to my established team.

They did.  Oh they beautifully and amazingly did.  Not the in-house shrink, no he’s a pill pushing idiot, but my caseworker got me my team back.  No matter I don’t have insurance, I have history, I was in emergency, I needed my team and I have my team

That alone…  I can breath.  And life can start.

Why?

Pain.  I feel like such a weakling admitting the day-in and day-out pain is getting to me.  I know people, specific person, who has it so very much worse than I.  But we all have our breaking point.  For some it’s how much pain, for others it’s how long.  I was reaching the deadly combo of both.

My hands.  I’m losing my fine motor skills.  All of them.  Some days are better than others but I can’t grasp, I can’t manipulate fine tools, like you know, pens.  Rock bottom there hit around the time I dropped my camera.  I destroyed my portrait lens and I may have damaged the camera itself.  I don’t know.  I’ve tested it, but I don’t yet have the heart to look at the test results.

I walked out on my marriage and my family.  And while I do not regret ending my marriage, the pain I suffer over the kids staying with him, however right that decision may have been, is suffocating.  I’m also struggling with the fact I broke his heart.  I can’t rule my life by his heart but he is still… Patrick.

I’m also not sleeping.  Still, even after the hospital.  At least not at night.  The Cymbalta knocked me out during the day while there.  I’m working on the sleep thing but it’s so very hard to function on no sleep.  It turns molehills into mountains, and my mountains into the Himalayas.

So I’m out now.  And while I’m not yet awesome, I’m within sight of the light at the end of the tunnel.  I have hope and a plan.  A life plan.  I hit rock bottom.  But after a week in the psych ward I’m ready, finally, to find myself and build who I want to be post rock bottom.  With so many life changes in the works, I’m at a blank slate of who I want to be as I approach 30 and look to the next decade.  I can decide who I am, who I want to be, what I want in life, and how I want to get there.

And I’m finally ready to start building.

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I have been missing it since last fall.  Never thought I would, but the feeling of power that comes from pushing through the burn as my feet hit the pavement, is strangely addictive.

Warm up.  Run.  Walk.  Run.  Walk.  And so on until cool down and collapse.

I have it nowhere near by the book.  I will continue day 1, week 1 until I do.  It might take years. Then I’ll move on to day 2, week 1.  I have my limits though.  Not fat girl limits, but chronic pain issues limits.  If I don’t listen to my limits I’ll do more harm than good.

But I’m working on it.  I’m officially that fat girl making her way down the sidewalk not giving a damn what you think because at least I’m trying.

What are you doing?

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