Counseling: Partial Care, Partial Nightmare; A Princeton Review.

I work in a Partial Care Unit for people with mental health complications in Upstate New York. Let me begin by saying that I love my job. I absolutely love it. Running groups in a partial care facility and counseling is an amazing experience, and I am really connecting with my clients.

However, this place is slowly turning into a gorgeous nightmare.

My second week on the job, a huge bomb was dropped on me while I was at work, and I was outside on the phone on my lunch break, and I totally freaked out. I lost it. I never freak out publicly like that, and the one time I do, it’s there. Most of my conversation was in Arabic, so I’m not entirely sure how the person who reported me claimed I was cursing, but that’s okay. Arabic is a harsh language sometimes, and I was pretty loud. That was completely my fault.

My supervisor flipped about it, and I apologized at least fifteen times, and we moved on. She warned me not to text during meetings at all, and that was that.

And then yesterday, I was having a super pleasant morning, when my supervisor calls me in yet again. She was pissed that I was “texting” in case management and mindfulness, that morning. The counselors said I was, and that I laughed. My supervisor basically said that if I do one more thing, I’m fired.

First of all, I will swear on my grandfather’s grave that I was not texting. The clients were doing a silent activity. The main counselor was on her surface doing something else, so I thought it would be cool if I read.

Secondly, I was looking up group techniques, and then I found this fan fiction I wrote when I was 13 in one of my old email’s drafts. My god, it was horrible. That’s why I laughed quietly to myself. I was not texting. I was not even for a second texting. I did not knowingly break the rules.

Basically, if one more thing crosses her path, I am fired.

She threatened my job because I had my phone out in a room where the lights were off and everyone was basically knocked out. I was reading. I had my phone on the table and I was scrolling. How the hell does that mean that I was texting?

I legitimately had no clue I wasn’t allowed to have my phone out. No one told me, and instead of telling me I shouldn’t have it out, I just get in trouble. Superviser bugged out.

Are you serious? This is supposed to be a learning experience. I am a lowly, new intern and it is my first month. I don’t know all the rules, yet. If I did, why would I be openly doing it right in front of them? I WOULD BE HIDING IT!

I’m terrified to go to work, now. This could be the difference between me graduating and me failing out of school.

It wasn’t intentional. It was not in any way intentional. It was a misunderstanding. I was reading. R-E-A-D-I-N-G!

I am so ridiculously upset about this. I was having such a great day. My clients went to my supervisor and other counselors and said I was really good. Obviously, I’m doing my work well. Threatening my job over reading on my phone was so, so excessive.

I’m so tired of screwing up accidentally. I’m walking on egg shells, and I’m extremely anxious all the time, there. It’s a great place to work, but it’s seriously like walking a trapeze wire hanging above Satan’s living room, just waiting on one stumble to take care of me his way.

And I get to go back tomorrow.

Woo.

The “Brangelina” Break-up

Everyone is in an uproar because of the iconic couple dubbed “Brangelina” is breaking up. Yes, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have called it quits, and everyone is on the fritz.

Someone please explain why.

Why do people care so much about this relationship? We aren’t in it. Two people decided they don’t want to fucking be together, anymore. It is a sad attest to our blindness–people are being murdered left and right, and everyone is busy coming up with theories revolving around the break-up.

Here is my theory: They want to be apart.

That’s it, so let them fucking be apart. This doesn’t affect my life, and it doesn’t affect yours, either. These people do not even know or care about you.

Adele dedicated an entire concert to them. Er…why don’t you dedicate your concert to the people who are losing their lives in our country for little to no reason? Why is this even on your radar, when you aren’t even friends?

Here’s a reality check for all of you: Hollywood relationships do not last. They end. Time passes, and they fall apart for some reason or other.

I feel disgusting just dedicating a post to this, but it aggravates me to no end that, everywhere I turn, this topic is on the table. People are crying about it. They are crying. What the hell type of drama queen shit is this?

Brangelina just became Brad and Angelina. Kudos to them for lasting as long as they did.

Now, who gets the kids?

I DON’T CARE.

The Curious Case of the Caustic Corrupted Capitalist Consumerism

Perhaps one of my favorite arguments and/or rants has quite a lot to do with the evil that is capitalist America’s consumer mania that manipulates the masses. We are herded by big businesses that know how to make us desire something that is ultimately useless and overpriced. In fact, the higher the price, the more we want it, the more we chase it. The quality may be subpar, but our society has become so shallow and proud that we value only what isn’t easily had.

Look at the technology addiction that has captured our entire population. We buy computers, phones and games for ridiculous prices, only to toss them aside for a newer version that has no substantial advantage over the one we have just one year later. Take for example the new iPhone 7 that is coming out soon. The damn thing is made without a normal headphone jack, forcing the buyer to use Apple earbuds for their audio experience.

But people will still buy it.

Or coffee. It is not financially reasonable to buy a custom cup of coffee from a famous chain store–such as Starbucks–every day. But it is cool to go to Starbucks. Starbucks is the best coffee there is. No one can do better.

No, that’s what we call Group Think. The power of advertising is incredibly effective in ways that we could never imagine or accept.

We are even conned into believing that the best things in life are “free,” when in fact, absolutely nothing in life is free. That includes air, water and power.

Yes, air. You have to buy a place to breathe in, because loitering is illegal. Water? How about we put them in plastic bottles and sell them to you for unreasonable prices? And of course different waters come at different prices–as if there’s a fucking difference. The most expensive is the best, and that’s that.

Capitalism is not a bad thing. Capitalist societies, in theory, are positive and fruitful. However, enterprise culture in America has been bastardized. Consumer brain washing has caused an upheaval in the free body of the system, throwing a colossal wrench in a working machine. Categories have been created, and we have become addicted to wanting without needing and buying without affording.

Which digs us into holes of debt that we struggle to get out of later on. People blame it on taxes, expensive living and basically everything the government doesn’t do, but it isn’t just Big Brother’s fault. People have allowed themselves to be numb to harsh realities, and they are easily lulled into false sense of happiness through material objects that cost more than necessary.

I am writing this using an iPhone and proofreading it on a MacBook Air.

I may be part of the problem.

It was Accidentally on Purpose, but that’s Neither Here nor There.

I think that nonsensical sentences can be the most sensible of all structured statements. There is far greater weight and meaning in them. My favorite foxymoron, for example, is, “a deafening silence.”

I am aware that I accidentally wrote, “foxymoron.” I am intentionally leaving it that way. It sounds great.

This is not to be confused with a “foxy moron.” Those are useless on all counts.

Yes, linguistically, it shows a poor understanding of basic English. However, it can also exhibit an understanding of the human psyche and the figurative world. The word “deafening” is something that impairs your hearing. “Silence” is a lack of sound; hearing absolutely nothing at all. In essence, you are equally “deaf” in either situation. It will never make sense on paper, but there is method in the madness, here.

When someone reads, a “deafening silence,” it is easier for him or her to truly imagine the situation being described. We have all experienced silence as a true “presence” before. It has, at one time or another, been almost palpable in a way. We just never acknowledged it or recognized it for what it was. Often, we describe as “eerie.”

However, this does not apply all the time. There are several “oxymoronical” phrases that are simply idiotic, but we use them anyway. My favorite example of this, “accidentally on purpose.”

When I was in sixth grade, I thought that this was the cleverest thing I had come to think of. I did not even know it was a “thing,” back then. I thought I was a literary genius who had made thought up something incredible.

I am not proud of this, but for the purpose of this argument, I will admit it. I was deluded.

This also applies to “definitely maybe,” which doubles as a title for one of the worst Romantic Comedies I have set my peepers on. That one, I had nothing to do with.

Another example is, “neither here nor there.” Then where the fuck is it? Where is this “there” so that I can look elsewhere? It doesn’t even make sense for the situations it is used in. “I ran into a tree, but that’s neither her nor there.” It is supposed to mean that something “doesn’t matter.”

I am ashamed to admit that I have used it on numerous occasions, before.

I should be shot for my hypocrisy.

But that’s neither here nor there.

The Sin of a Snarky Sisterly Scrutiny

Just to keep everyone up-to-date, my grandmother is still in the hospital. Now for yet another day, alone. I work at a partial care mental health facility, so I can’t be there during the day.

Now, my brother called me last night and asked me how I am, and I exploded out of frustration and had an anxiety attack. I was taking care of an 82-year-old woman with congestive heart failure while studying and working. Call me weak if you must, but there it is.

Upon hearing this from me, my brother contacted my mother’s siblings and had a fit.

All caught up? Moving on.

I received several interesting phone calls while I was at work, today. The first came from my brother, who is a million miles away somewhere in the Middle East. He was just calling to check on me, because my blood sugar has been on the fritz and sleep evades me. Nothing special, there.

The second was a call from my mother’s brother. He also first asked about my blood sugar, and then told me that he is coming to see my grandmother again from NC, tonight. Despite any frustration I may have with him, my uncle is the absolute kindest of my mother’s siblings, and I know that he loves me very much.

And that is the end of any even remotely nice things I say, today.

On to the third and final phone call thus far: my mother’s sister.

Now, let me begin with the first thing she said to me, which really was just a pilfered attempt at reassigning guilt in an offense manner. She asked me why I was even bothering to go back and forth to the hospital to stay with my grandmother.

My grandmother; a woman who speaks no English and can’t even get up to go to the bathroom on her own.

THE FUCK YOU MEAN WHY DO I GO STAY WITH HER?

She said it so condescendingly too, as if I were just doing something unnecessary and distasteful. Well, excuse the fuck out of me for taking care of your mother. Maybe I should just leave her alone and stay in New York all the time. There’s an idea.

What’s sad is, that is true. My grandmother tells me all the time to just go home and leave her, and she wouldn’t be upset. That’s just depressing. She has accepted that no one has time for her.

Then my mother’s lovely sister proceeded to tell me that she was already coming this weekend, even if my brother hadn’t flipped out.

OKAY.

I am not a petulant four-year-old who will swallow your thinly veiled excuses.

Her tone was not at all nice, either. It was as though I am the villain in this situation. I ruined everything. I made gran stay in the hospital for two weeks. Yes, all me.

I did not call them or ask them to come. How about everyone take a good long look at their own behavior before fucking with my time?

That is aside from the fact that my mother’s other sister has not even fucking called to check on me, despite knowing that I’m under the weather in a myriad of ways. That’s fine; Her perrogative.

But for future reference, do keep in mind:

Karma is a relentless a son of a me.

God, I can only imagine how they would react if I admitted to being are-ace. The words “abomination” and “crazy” come to mind.

On with the show. Time to hit the ICU.

Anxiety Attack in a Hospital

I literally just burst into tears and had a severe anxiety attack in the middle of a hospital with my grandmother asleep in the bed.

My grandmother doesn’t speak English. That means there has to be someone in the hospital room with her as often as possible, because no one there can translate to Arabic.

And that responsibility has fallen to me. So, I wake up at 5:30 every morning, drive two hours to get to work, work for eight hours, drive two hours back, and then sleep on the hospital room couch–waking up every twenty minutes to get her a nurse–then rinse and repeat the next day. I have a shit ton of backed up papers and projects that I haven’t touched, work for this volunteer thing I already got roped into and material for a standardized exam I need to study for.

It built up astronomically today, and I just had a complete nervous breakdown.

And as if that isn’t enough, my blood sugar is over 200 every single morning, despite the fact that I eat basically nothing, now.

Why has this all fallen to me? Because my mother and one of my uncles are overseas, and my grandmother’s other children just don’t seem to think it’s fucking important to be here. They haven’t even fucking visited. Their excuses are just lovely.

One of them is a teacher, and said that she had an open house, so she couldn’t come during the long weekend (Labor Day). She had to work.

Another one of them does not work or go to school, but is too busy studying for a licensing exam to come allllll the way here. Yes, because it is so impossible to study in Jersey, right? No, home is the only place that she can read off a fucking index card.

Their mother has been in a hospital for eleven fucking days. Eleven. Fucking. Days.

How about a round of applause for the worst children ever?

They all know that I go to school and work 2 hours away from the hospital she is in. I spend ten hours of my day out, and then come back to a woman who needs my help too much for me to get some real sleep. I have epilepsy and diabetes. I fucking need sleep or I really will collapse. It doesn’t matter, because I have zero choice in the matter. She is alone for long periods of time as it is. I can’t just leave her like that.

I am constantly too tired to do anything at all, and everything is piling up into a huge mound of dirt that I am going to be buried six feet under very soon.

This is a really hard time for us, and I will keep doing my part and making up for their absence.

But I will never forgive them.

Hopefully, I won’t break down like that, again. My grades cannot afford for me to slip.

Just say a little prayer for her. Things aren’t looking up.

Nastily Exhausting Nightmares and Dastardly Other-Worldly Dreams

I keep having these horrible recurring nightmares that make me wake up in a complete panic. A different person is featured in each of the dreams–some people I know and some I don’t–but the same thing happens every single time. Faces change, but the events do not. I am even wearing the exact same dress every single time–a pure white ball gown with trumpet sleeves. Then, I wake up in tears.

The dream always takes place on my wedding night, and I’ll have just walked into my hotel room with my supposed husband. He walks toward me, smiling like mad, obviously ready to consummate the marriage. That’s when, in the dream, I start hyperventilating. Seconds later, I wake up already crying and breathing hard.

The last time I had it was the worst of all. There was screaming involved.

I am so screwed.

Literally.