Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Reasons Not to Help People

Location: Hawthorne District
Mood: Affronted

The Walgreen's in my hometown called me right away when my medications were ready. So naturally, the lack of a call from my new local Walgreen's led me to believe that my prescriptions were not ready. It had been a while, so I called this morning, and they informed me that it was indeed ready and had been for some time.

So, tonight I'm on my way home from my weekly night at my parent's house, and I swing by Walgreen's to pick up my prescription that should have been ready on Monday. As the attendant hands me my prescription I casually ask if my number was correct in the system. It is.

"How come I didn't receive a call?" I ask. The woman responds that it can take up to 3 days for a call to go out, and if I absolutely "have to know immediately" I am required to sign up for text-messaging alerts. So, I explain to her that I pay for my text messages. The woman shrugs in response, and indicates that she does not care about my financial woes. I don't blame her. Why should she? Then, out of pure curiosity, I ask why I used to get called immediately when I frequented the Gresham location.

Wow! You would not believe the attitude! It was like I had grossly offended her with my curiosity. She steps back and says "well, you know we put out over a hundred of these a day!" What I wanted to do was inform her that:
1.) I had not taken offense with the company policy
2.) I had not asked her what the branch productivity was and
3.) She needs a customer service refresher.
Instead, I just smiled sympathetically, thanked her for her time, and walked away. 

As I ventured out and through the rain drenched parking lot, I heard a bang and some crunching sounds.  When I looked over my shoulder to investigate, I discovered a crazy elderly woman driving her Buick station wagon directly into a shopping cart. No, she didn't side swipe it, or grace it backing out of her spot.  She quite literally drove the front end right into it, and continued to drive for about 5 seconds. When she stopped, I figured I'd be a good Samaritan and assist her.

I approached, and moved the cart for her, as she very slowly attempted to get out of the vehicle. Once out, she walked around to the back of her car and surveyed it. I'm not entirely sure what for, as the impact was clearly on the front driver side corner. She then walked around to the passenger side of the car, looked at it, and looked around while I quietly pushed the cart over to the side walk. Not sure what she was doing, I stood on the curb and watched for a moment. Coming to no solution, I attempted to make my way to my own car, all the while going unacknowledged by this crazy old bat. When she returned to the rear driver side she looked up. I smiled responsively at her and waved. I mean, what else was I going to do? 

I know what you're expecting here. Obviously she gushed over how sweet and magnanimous I was. She clearly noted how amazing it was to have a world with people like me who are willing to help a little lady, and not ask for anything in return. She then explained to me that she is a quadjillionaire, and offered to pay for my upcoming grad school tuition, and buy me a house. Also, she has a handsome single doctor grandson who she wants to set me up with. Perfect!

Surprisingly, that's not how it went. I know, I know...calm down.

In reality, the woman glared at me as if I was some nefarious teenager causing havoc in my neighborhood just for shits and giggles. It was like she thought I had pushed something into her car. She watched me with her angry expression as I walked to my own car. It was so unsettling that I immediately locked the door, and clutched my phone in case I should need to call the authorities. Eventually, she got back in her car and drove off. (This is the part where I would make the lackluster sitcom flop noise "wah wah," but you can't hear it. So, it doesn't translate).

Seriously though...what is the world coming to? Why are people so needlessly cranky?

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Is This What Carole King Meant?

Location: Home
Mood: sad

On Friday, the world population had a game-changing experience. Our planet moved, and reminded us just how precariously placed our existence is.

For those of you who are completely oblivious, I'm talking about the 8.9 earthquake, and subsequent 20 ft tsunami in Japan. I've had a number of reactions to it. Initially my reaction was one of "holey-shit" proportions.  I then clutched the news with all my might, and used it to help ease my own anxieties about a Grad School interview.  Hearing about this event helped me to put things into perspective. Yes, getting my masters is important, but, in the grand scheme of things, a failure to achieve acceptance is less than that. Surprisingly, listening to the radio talk about the frighteningly massive waves that were headed for my state, helped me to relax. Instead of thinking that botching this experience would be the worst thing ever, I thought "this isn't so bad."

Later, I breathed a sigh of relief as most of Oregon classified the experience as "a drill." As my own stress eased, I took a less egotistical look at the catastrophe. I turned my gaze on the news (or lack thereof) coming from Japan. I found images of a real life whirlpool, and heard news of missing trains that undoubtedly carried the hundreds of geographic sight-seers to the bottom of the ocean in a suffocatingly sealed metal box. The death toll numbers being reported continue to be terrifying.  Surely, no one event could wipe out that many lives?  But it has, and entire cities have lost contact with the rest of the planet. Then I learned of the nuclear reactors that are posing a new threat to society.  Now, I can't not think about it.

Historically, I've had my battles with anxiety and overly-worrisome thought processes. Things like this don't help. Sure, it puts my normal every day concerns into perspective, but it also reminds me just how much there is to be terrified of.

All my life I've heard about how the Pacific Northwest is overdue for "the big one." This has just been something I've heard and known about.  I've never given it too much thought, because to really consider it is overwhelming.  I always knew it would be bad, but watching the Japanese quake and the fallout from afar, has been alarming. I can't help but feel like I'm walking on a tight-rope that could at any moment give way. The earth has become this menacing demon looming over us.  I place Us on a metaphorical web with a starving carnivorous spider nearing. I look around at all the potentially awful ways to be destroyed, and my heart pounds faster.

I have always loved the scenery of my home, and spent a day this weekend reveling in an experience that brings me back to my childhood. I ventured up my mountain, and quietly rode the chair lift through enormous and beautiful evergreens.  I peacefully skied down hills covered in thick and calming snow the day following an avalanche in a nearby area. I was overcome with how wonderfully pleasing the experience was, but also how potentially catastrophic it could be. At any moment, Nature, could take a turn. The wind could knock loose an avalanche, and pull me down with it. A tree could reach it's lifespan, and fall across the chords that pull me further up the active volcano. The earth could open up and cover us all in molten hot magma.

I know I'm being a bit dramatic. However, I can't help but acknowledge how truly unsafe this world is, and how frighteningly it could come to an end at any moment.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Anticipating Summer

Location: Apartment
Mood: Restless

Usually I don't care that much about summer. Don't get me wrong. I like it, but I'm not completely enamored with it like most of my peers are.  I have a number of theories to explain it.

 I think it has a lot to do with how pale, and therefore sensitive to sunburns, I am. I spend a lot of my summertime indoors because any extended time (and by this I mean about 15 minutes) in the sun equals guaranteed discomfort the next day.

I also think a lot of it has to do with my childhood.  Historically, summer has been the most active time of year for my family. It's bike racing season. Until very recently bike racing has been synonymous with my surname in the state of Oregon. When I was a child, my parents were at ALL OF THEM.  This means, I was at all of them. I actually have some very fond memories of suffering in the back seat as I shared space with my two older siblings and the entire OBRA collection of race gear.  Eventually, we grew, and OBRA (i.e. my parents) accumulated so much gear that it was borderline abusive to shove us into such a confined space. So, OBRA/my parents bought a trailer, and we got some leg room.

Wow, did I get sidetracked reminiscing.  My point was, that as a child when my school friends and neighbors were out exploring the nearby creek, or visiting the beach with each others' families I was reading Archie Comics and Animorphs under a sun tent at Alpenrose Velodrome, or playing on massive dirt piles in a criterium parking lot. As I matured, I began to express my distaste for attending bike races, and my parents allowed me to stay home. However, I wasn't sure what to do with my time.

Another of my theories for my lack of summer enthusiasm was my physique.  I've never been in great shape, and I've always been rather insecure about my body in a bathing suit. This is because of a combination of lack of toned muscles and my day-glow white skin which is blinding when exposed to direct sunlight. Really I stay indoors for you people.

Despite all of these factors, and probably several more that I can't think of,  I awoke this morning to a stream of warmth and light from my window.  It immediately conjured images of bathing suits, rivers, beach houses, warm days of reading in the park, and cool hikes in the Gorge.  Needles to say, I wanted summer.

Also, I've decided that I'd like to have a summer crush this year. Where can I get one of those?  Do you just post an advertisement at your local coffee shop?

Attachment

Location: My apartment
Mood: Creative



I'm here.
I'm gone.
I'm back.
We bond.

I smile.
You calm.
You cry.
I Nurture.
We trust

You hurt.
I love.
I teach.
You learn.
We grow.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Childish Fantasy

Location: My Apartment
Mood: Exhausted
Watching: Chaos Theory

There's something about children that is so beautifully honest. They are who they are, even when they don't want to be. They don't understand this world, yet they keep trying to navigate it.

Watching them struggle reminds me how complex everything truly is. It's so easy to get stressed out or frazzled because it's tax season, your medical bills are too big, or your car insurance is expired. We forget that even the most basic aspects of life are hard. For adults, overcoming basic stressors actually limits the ability to enjoy the world.

Children don't have that problem. Sure, they cry because they miss their mommies, or they're tired, but they giggle when we rip paper. They experience pure joy when they run against the wind. Swing sets are peaceful, and doing a silly dance makes walking to the bathroom more fun. A hug from the right adult makes them feel wanted and improves their mood.

Sometimes I wish I was still 6 years old. I wish it were acceptable for me to whine and stomp my feet when I don't like the answer I've gotten from my mechanic. I'd like for people to cut me some slack if I begin to sob uncontrollably because I'm too tired to be in the grocery store. And after a particularly tough day, it'd be nice to be picked up and carried around.

Then, in my free time, I'll jump on my bed, build a tree fort with my neighbors, color a picture for my mom, incessantly ask my dad absurd questions, and dance to silence with my brother. It all sounds wonderfully appealing sometimes.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Salt, Fire, Underpants. Is this for real?

Location: My Apartment
Mood: Bemused

Let's talk about my day. But let's start first with a rundown of my week. My ENT thinks I have Meniere's, and he wants me to try cutting salt out of my diet.

We hate my ENT right now. Salt is delicious. Salt is everywhere, and in all things that are amazing. As a result: I'm starving. I can't eat anything I like, so I've lost nearly five pounds. However, the one good thing here, is that my ENT recommended that I do a low salt diet for a few days, and then try to eat a bunch of salty foods to see how I react. My all-knowing father, doesn't think one attempt at this is enough to prove the diagnosis. This has led me to instituting Sodium Sundays!

I woke up this morning knowing that I'm going to gorge myself on deliciousness, and it's going to be wholly unhealthy. I thought to myself, "I'll be a good little girl and go for a run." Usually on my run, I can run for just about a mile, then I have to stop and walk for a few minutes before I run some more. Given that I'm down in poundage, and up in healthy food, I assume I'll be able to run longer. WRONG. I can run barely two blocks. Do I turn around and go home? No. I decide to keep going at my approximately two block intervals of running. And It. is. AWFUL. It's cold. I'm exhausted. My legs feel like led. Just when I decide that I hate it for real, but I'm going to stick it out...it starts to rain. Icy, freezing, skin-stinging rain. So, I take an abrupt left and head for home.

When I get home I decide to prepare myself for the day, and go get nachos at a local restaurant. After showering, I blow dry my hair. For some reason it poofs out into what can only be described as a Caucasian afro. But, I don't really know anyone, and I'm starving. So I decide to wear my afro with pride. I bring my kindle along, and prepare for salty-delectability. The nachos do not disappoint, but my kindle does. The battery suddenly goes dead, and I'm left alone at my table staring at those around me. Do I go home? Eh.  I'm okay. I'll stick it out.

When I get home I put on the last month's worth of 30 Rock, and set forth to do some house cleaning. However, just as I'm starting the second episode, the fire alarm goes off. This is the second time this week, and I'm starting to get irritated, but like I've always been trained, I evacuate (not without grabbing my coat and purse first).

Outside, I complain to a neighbor who missed the alarm from last Thursday evening. I tell her about how she can expect to see the fire engine in about five minutes, and it'll come slowly down the streets with only lights on. Then the firemen will get out one at a time in their sweatshirts, and slowly walk into the building. As I'm describing how relaxed the whole thing will be, a fire engine comes roaring down the street with lights and sirens. It stops abruptly. Three firemen run out in their coats and hats, and into the building. Another firefighter quickly unravels the hose and attaches it to the building. I eat my words, as a second fire engine comes up from the other direction, and three fire fighters peel out in full fire-gear.

Now I'm nervous. So, I do what any full grown adult does in this situation. I call my mommy. I explain to her about how there are two fire engines, but as I'm saying that another one rolls up along with a battalion chief SUV. Then a fourth fire engine rolls in on the cross street, and a second SUV, but all their occupants seem rather relaxed. They're still in full garb, but their coats are opened, and their walking over to one another and chatting. Neat. A firefighter reunion on my block. Eventually we all learn that an 87 year old woman on the second floor had some stove top difficulty that resulted in a couple charred pots and pans. They let us go back in.

The rest of my day is relatively normal, despite the BBQ smoke smell in and around the building. I ended it by going to McMenamins for some Cajun tots with a friend. I devoured almost the whole order by myself. Then I got home and realized that I've been wearing my underwear on inside-out all day, and I thought "that seems about right."

Saturday, February 19, 2011

The Essay

I learned on Friday that my grad school application has been moved on through the next step in the process.  They want me to come in for an interview.  I'm incredibly excited. I worked so hard on my essay, and put into it everything I could. This essay robbed me of time, and resulted in the return of some anxiety issues that I thought I had completely resolved.  Turns out, soaking myself of every fiber of my writing ability and desire to improve was worth it. Now would be a good time to share it with all of you (assuming there's any of you).  *You may recognize bits of it from a previous blog.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of the children I work with is a 4 year old boy.  He is the sweetest kid once you get to know him.  Unfortunately, because he is scary, many people do not get that chance. He scared me when I first met him, and I have known him to scare away countless reasonable adults.  His terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums frequently require three adults to contain. He exhibits a high anxiety level by chewing on his fingers, banging his head against walls, punching himself in the face, and falling to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates.  He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, fire trucks, and Spiderman.
His Spiderman fixation is of particular interest. He knows Spiderman’s crime fighting techniques, and frequently attempts to use them, as a coping mechanism, in every-day life.  However, aside from being an endearing way to manage his fears, this little boy is demonstrating some remarkable insight about his own condition.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero to identify with.
Spiderman is really just an ordinary person in a costume. He is fallible; with faults and strengths just like the rest of us. However, his body is capable of extraordinary things, it is astonishing, but it is also frightening. For Spiderman, these tasks are superhuman feats intended to scare away literal demons. For this little boy, they are superhuman tantrums that inadvertently scare away his caregivers. Spiderman copes with this ability by developing a costume which allows him to anonymously fight off assailants.  He hides behind a mask.  For this little boy, tantrums are his proverbial mask.
Undoubtedly, Spiderman does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world.  Most love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.  However, when the mask is gone he fails to stand out.  It is different for this child.  He does have a support system who loves him when he is not hiding behind his tantrum mask, but he cannot accept it.  In contrast, this boy’s mask isolates him. He frightens others and himself. He sees himself just as most people do.  They see him as being the  psychological demons he fights.
In my experience working with maltreated children and disadvantaged families, I have encountered a number of children like this little boy. These children are plagued with serious psychological afflictions.  They are tasked with the normal and expected stressors of being a kid and growing up in a complex world, but are also burdened with scary pasts, unstable homes, inconsistent caregivers, and disabling diagnoses. Things are not easy for these children. They release anxiety through harmful and destructive behaviors.  They seek care and nurturance by screaming and throwing chairs, and avoid strong feelings by intentionally ignoring those they can rely on. They attempt to tell you what they have been through by engaging in indiscriminant and sexualized behaviors.  
After everything that has happened to these children, they exhibit an alarming amount of insight and unwitting self-awareness. Whether it is the little boy I previously discussed, or the reactive four year-old who played out his attachment issues with me and explained “I don’t know how to like you,” these kids seem to know deep down, just how different they are. Not many people see that, but I do.
For nearly two years I have worked in the milieu as a Child Development Specialist (CDS) at Morrison Hand in Hand Day Treatment, and of the many things I have learned there is that I am good at this.  I am able to see kids for who they are, and not what they do. I approach my clientele from a developmental perspective, and find creative interventions to facilitate their success in a variety of situations. For example, the boy with the “Spiderman complex” often refused to clean up or participate in group activities until I suggested he sit on “the S for Spiderman” in the alphabet carpet.
Another one of my personal strengths is that I truly hear the children that I work with. I listen to their words, and I understand that they are trying to communicate what their limited life experience will not let them. I hear the five year old with PTSD and Fetal Alcohol Effects tell me “sometimes I say things, and then I say other things,” and I understand that when he says “it makes me feel mad at my brain” he has realized that he thinks differently than his peers do. In addition to the above mentioned strengths, I feel I possess a strong sense of empathy, compassion, and unique understanding towards those I work with.  
It is this ability to understand that has inspired me to pursue a career in the mental health field, as a therapist specializing in work with traumatized and attachment-challenged children. I have enjoyed the work I have done thus far immensely, but I feel that I can do more. I would like to further develop my knowledge of information pertaining to this field. It is my hope that a graduate degree in counseling will give me a comprehension of clinical models, and therapeutic interventions that I can implement in my future practice.  Another of the areas that I feel needs further development is my knowledge regarding available resources both universally and in the local community. I believe that studying counseling at Pacific University will guide me on this path, by affording me access to those resources, and helping me reach my goals.
Pacific offers courses which will bolster my comprehension with a strong knowledge of relevant theories, practices, and clinical models. By asking students to complete community internships, Pacific will also help me build upon the strong foundation of experience I have obtained thus far. I am particularly interested in this program because of the emphasis on evidenced-based practice.  This emphasis fits with my previous experience in the field and coincides with my belief that it is ethically wrong to offer treatment without the supporting facts of its effectiveness. I have a drive to learn, and have always sought out research regarding my clientele and proven supportive interventions. Currently, I attend a minimum of twice monthly trainings on a variety of topics such as attachment, adoptive processes, and the affects of drugs and alcohol in utero. Also, I regularly peruse the mental health section of book stores for supplemental knowledge. Also, in my work as a CDS, I have encountered numerous situations which have sparked a desire for education. 
One situation, in particular, seems especially applicable. After his entry into the program, one of my clients began to respond to my support and interactions erratically. He expressed an apparent preference by seeking me out often, turning down other staff, and calling out my name when I was unavailable.  When I was able to work with him, he reacted to my redirects and encouragement with an extreme level of aggression, dysregulation, and emotionality that was unlike his reactions to most adults in his life. It gradually increased to a point where I was unable to have any successful interactions with him, be they directive or non-directive. Because of this, I became curious about what particular process was causing such a distinct response.
 Of my own volition, I began to research early childhood attachment. What I found was a wealth of knowledge about Reactive Attachment Disorder in traumatized children.  I brought this information to the team – including, myself, a clinical manager, a psychiatrist, and several family therapists- and the diagnosis was applied to the child’s treatment plan.  I also used the information I obtained from case studies and academic research to implement rituals and routines which facilitated development of a more secure attachment.  Ultimately this helped the child to begin to overcome his reactivity towards me.
I believe the above scenario is just one example of why I am a match for this program, and will thrive with the continued education I know Pacific provides. It is rare that an individual is driven to work with such a daunting population, and many exhaust themselves and move on after a very short period of time.  I am unique in that I have grown through various positions, and remained interested in this particular group. I may be overwhelmed at times, but I find support in those I work with, and am always further inspired to learn more and help my clients overcome their disruptive and disabling psyches.  I enjoy working with these children, despite situations that can seem hopeless or overwhelming. I am aware that there are a limited number of resources available for such populations, and would like to help expand those resources by becoming an expert in this area.  It is my hope to be accepted to Pacific, so I can begin to realize this dream.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

My Friend Tank

Location: Apartment
Mood: Anticipating sadness

When I started the work that I do, just over a year and a half ago, I met this little boy.  He was three years old at the time. I used to joke that he was shaped like a cinder block...because he was.   To my friends and family I referred to him as Tank.  He stood out amongst the other kids, because he had a certain quality.  Something about him was just...entertaining.

Tank could barely talk when I met him.  That's not for lack of trying (he loves to talk!), and it definitely was not because he was shy.  Tank's parents, for whatever reason, failed to recognize that he was sick. A lot. Poor kid had chronic ear infections.  No one knows what the world sounded like to him, but it definitely didn't sound like something his brain could convert into language.  He couldn't talk to the grown ups in his world, and he lacked the ability to ask for even his most basic needs to be met. However, what he did seem to find out was if he urinated around the house, tipped over large pieces of furniture, or hurt the other kids he got attention, and eventually his needs were met.

When I was first introduced to Tank, it was a couple months after he had corrective surgery. He was beginning to acquire language at a very rapid pace. However, his speech continued to be unintelligible.  I was just beginning my work in this field, and felt like I didn't have a clue about anything.  Then, there was this kid who I literally could not understand. He was bulky and clumsy. Tank crashed his way through the other childrens' toys and games, and seemed to enjoy their negative responses. If he wanted a hug, he would just run at you full throttle, and knock you to the ground.

Against all odds, he was the first child I worked with that made me feel like I had found my calling. I didn't know what I was doing.  I didn't know how to help.  I couldn't understand what he wanted to say, but I noticed him because he wanted to help me.  I was new to his classroom, and didn't know my way around.  Rather than telling him to complete tasks, I brought myself down to his level and looked at him as a tutor.  I asked Tank to help me learn the rules and where everything goes. And he loved it. He'd stop whatever destructive activity he was engaged in to show me where the Rescue Heroes were supposed to go.  If he started to run away from me, and I asked him when it was time to run, Tank would grab my hand take me over to the schedule.  Still running, but it's a start.

Eventually, I became a regular staff, and he became a more permanent friend. I followed him down the hallways as he tucked his arms in, shook his hips rapidly and chanted "potty, potty, potty, potty" in an amusingly low voice. Once in the stall he would sing himself through the steps, ("pee. pee. pee. stop. flush.") I listened as he attempted to explain the plot to his favorite movies with a limited and indecipherable vocabulary.  I was amazed at how patient he was with such a debilitating speech impediment.  He became incredibly expressive.  Tank would describe entire scenes in cartoons, and while you couldn't understand his words you could tell from his actions, mannerisms, and sound effects what was happening.

I will never forget the time he told me about his foster father driving a car.  He mimed the steering wheel, muttering incomprehensibly about what was happening, then he SCREEEEEEEECHED, and leaned sideways. "Woah," he said. Obviously, this had been an event.

I've been with Tank through two of his birthdays, and watched him grow. He's still rather stocky for his age, but he's taller and thinner now.  He looks more and more like a big boy each day. Currently he tells these surprisingly good Knock-Knock jokes (T: knock knock? ME: who's there? T:banana.ME:  banana who? T: Eat me.), and often poses hysterical scenarios (ex. "wouldn't it be funny if we didn't have feet?") . He enjoys affection, and will jump into your arms any time you ask for a hug. Tank is avoidant when it comes to big events, or strong feelings. However, he spontaneously says that he loves us, and I know it's true.

This week I have to say goodbye to Tank.  He has grown a great deal since I've known him. He's bigger, smarter, and more aware than ever before.  He still has a lot of work to do, but that work will have to be elsewhere. My team has advocated against his departure for nearly six months, but for reasons I can't fathom we've lost that battle.

This little boy is going to hear a lot of very upsetting news in the months to come, and I will no longer be there to support him.  He is going to leave my world. And I'm worried that this happy little boy is going to vanish entirely in the years to come.


Clearly, I can't tell his story as well as I can tell the others'.  I think it's because his is too close to home. No matter what, this child has made an impact on my heart, and I will never forget him for it.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Peter Parker Syndrome

Mood: thoughtful
Location: Apartment

Last weekend I re-watched the Spiderman movies,  and I was struck at how profound they are. There is a large number of lines that could be looked at out of context and still be incredibly moving. It got me thinking....

There is this little boy who lives in my world. He's really the sweetest kid once you get to know him. Unfortunately many people don't get that chance, because he's scary. This kid is only 4 years old, and I have known him to scare away at least a handful of full grown mature adults. I don't blame these people either. He scared me when I first met him. This little boy has some terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums that frequently require three adults to contain, but that's not who he is.

In his short life, he has been exposed to some awful traumas. His world was not safe. He was scared, confused, and trapped. His world is safe now. It's getting safer and healthier with each day. However, the impact of those early experiences lingers, and has impacted his mental health. Currently his tantrums are fewer and more manageable, but they are still scary. This little boy has an anxiety level higher than I have ever seen. He chews on his fingers, hits his head against walls (causing bumps and bruises), punches himself in the face, and falls to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates. He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. These fixations often result in tantrums. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, swimming pools, a stuffed spotted dog, fire trucks, spider webs, the number 2, and, Spiderman.

His Spiderman fixation might be my favorite. He knows the wrist web slinging maneuver, and for sometime used it frequently. He may not have been aware of it, but it was clearly an attempt at a coping mechanism. This little boy walked around with both hands cocked and ready to swing webs on whatever may be in his path. If you called his name, he would turn abruptly and point his wrists at you. It was hauntingly adorable.

This past weekend, while watching Spiderman, I realized just how perfect and insightful this little boy's hero worship is.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero.

Spiderman is really just Peter Parker in a fancy outfit. He is a completely ordinary person with his faults and his strengths just like the rest of us.  Then, he experiences a series of events that cause a reaction of extreme proportions. Suddenly, Peter Parker is capable of these extraordinary things, it's awe-inspiring, but it's also pretty frightening. He develops a costume and persona that allows him to do things that would interfere with his ordinary life. He hides behind a mask.

But, behind that mask is Peter, the sweet, geeky boy, who is trying to figure out who he is and what is right in this world. He is isolated by the things that his body does, and the demons that he fights while it's happening. He can't talk to the people who love him, because he's scared of what acknowledging that will mean.

The biggest difference here should be obvious. As Spiderman, Peter does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world. Most people love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.

For my friend, it's different. He does have a support system that loves him when he is not hiding behind his wrist flicks and his tantrum mask, but he can't accept it. He sees himself just as most people do. They see him as the demons he fights.


Sunday, January 2, 2011

The Destruction of Society as We Know it.

I have come to the conclusion that text messaging is ruining the world.
 It feels like no one actually calls anyone anymore.
When you text a person, there is no voice. You have no inflection in your words. Because of this, it is hard to decipher your actual meaning. This is especially detrimental for someone like myself. My main means of communication is through sarcasm. When you can't overemphasize words, draw out sentences, or act out your silliness through vocal mannerisms, you come off like an insensitive bitch. No fun. This can sometimes lead to arguments. What was originally meant as a brief conversation can become a huge misunderstanding, or (in a worse case scenario) an all out electronic brawl.

This leads me to another point. What is the point of having a texting conversation? Sometimes it can take hours, or even days. It's ridiculous! Say you want to see if someone will go to the movies with you. If you call them up it will go like this:
A: "Hey want to see a movie?"
B: "Which one?"
A: "Attack of the 50 foot Cactus."
B: "Sure, what time?"
A: "How's 5:30"
B: "Cool, see you there."
That took me less than a minute to type. But in all reality it's going to take a minimum of 5 minutes when you factor in sending time, service strength, and the length of time it takes to wrestle your fingers over those tiny screens. Now, Imagine how quickly it would go if spoken aloud. Scratch that. Read it out loud. How long did it take you? Thank you for proving my point.

That conversation could possibly take forever in text land. You'd send out your original "hey want to see a movie" text around, we'll say noon. But, Jo-Bob (or whatever you're calling your friends these days) might not be near his phone. He might get it around 1:30pm. So, you get the inevitable: "Sry dude jst got ur txt! movie sounds gd still dwn?" But, alas, you were not by your phone at this point in time. You had gone downstairs to google your name, or hulu reruns of Scrubs. You don't get the message until around 3ish. Jo-Bob assumes your lack of response means "no," and he has gone out. He put his phone on silent. Therefore Jo-Bob doesn't notice your text until around 5:15pm. Luckily you were by your phone. You think, "perfect timing!" Think again. When Jo-Bob went out, he saw Attack of the 50 foot Cactus. Now you need to figure out a different movie to see, but Jo-Bob hasn't turned his phone off silent. He doesn't know you still want to hang out. He's busy playing video games, and doesn't check his phone at regular intervals. Instead of having a meaningful interaction with another human being you end up spending your day alone.

Another reason why texting is ruining civilization: Did you read that message that Jo-Bob typed? Where did his vowels go? What is up with that punctuation?! I kind of want to scream at him, but I can't because his phone is on silent. Text messaging has brought about all of these abbreviations and written shortcuts. Half the time I don't even know what I'm reading. Then I need to consult the internet in order to decipher whatever code language your communication has devolved into. It's exhausting.  Now it's seeping into oral communication. Think of the number of times you've heard someone say "OMG" or "BTW" a loud in the last year. Now slap yourself that number of times.

This is what society is turning into. I'm tired of getting "how are you?" or "what's up?" text messages too. If you honestly want to hear the answer to that question you should call me, because I'm most likely going to lie to you over text message. This is not because I don't care enough to tell you. It's because it takes forever to give a genuine answer to this question when you're attempting to type a message with character restraints.

Plus, half the time the predictive texting mechanism on the phone thinks you've said a non-word and changes it to something nonsensical. After you've spent 15 minutes crafting the perfect response, you hit send only to discover this in your outbox: "I'm grwat. Work ie too. I local my me place. You should come view something." It's just easier to respond "good" or "nothing." My phone knows those words.
Bottom line: call me. Let's chat. I want to know how you're doing also.

But, perhaps the most unsettling reason that texting is ruining our world. The fact that most people are more comfortable texting one another than speaking to each other. How are we supposed to meet people or get to know anyone when we can't even interact with each other? Eye contact with strangers makes us uncomfortable. We don't know what to say to one another in the elevator. Instead, we whip out our phones to text someone rather than actually speak to the person standing right next to us. We are too afraid of rejection to actually call someone we're interested in, so we send the ever profound "hey!" message. When people call us we respond by looking at the screen and saying "that's weird why is Mary Lou calling me?"

It's all so depressing. I really enjoy people watching, but lately there hasn't been much to watch. I look out the window of my local coffee shop, and all I see are people looking at screens. Men standing at bus stops, texting someone. Women walking in pairs down the street, but not talking to each other. No, that would be awkward. They're both looking at their phones.

From an evolutionary standpoint, things do not look good. Eventually we're going to loose the ability to be successful in social functions. We'll have to carry around screens and keyboards in order to communicate with other people. Avoiding eye contact will result in some crucial misreading of social cues. We'll never make any new friends. We're becoming a selectively mute autistic society, and I'm scared for our future. NE Ways. G2G. TTYL
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