Silence

I’m thinking about silence itself as an object/presence recently. Immediately in my reaction field is a post I was reading from another blogger here on WP.

In my work as a child and adolescent therapist to some of the poorer children (the poorest live on skid row and I don’t have the stomach to work with that population) of Los Angeles; specifically called SPA 8 (Service Provider Area 8). I’ve had the special privilege of working with different young women, all under the age of 15 years of age who have been raped, sexually assaulted, attempted sexual assault/molestation, and/or sexual harassment. Each one has told me that they considered themselves to be the only one until they confided in a friend, cousin, or aunt near to their age (under 20 years of age); then they tell me, “I told her to tell someone about what she was going through”. Can we just get this over and done with?

Ladies/Girls/Women, let’s just admit that the men in our lives want us to feel alone. They want us to be frightened and feel alone! Yet, the reality is that more women and girls are assaulted, harrassed, abused by people they know than absolute strangers.

And abuse, physical abuse is the same story and I totally want to jump in there with the kid and be like “Yeah, I know!” but I can’t. The therapy hour is totally about them, and I pull myself back inside and be all like “Yeah? Can you tell me about what makes you scared?” or “What’s that like?” I stay on the back-burner and may save my urge to blurt out for my own therapy sessions where I get triggered/reminded of getting hit on the back my head or back with shoes or slippers (and you wonder why the F I hate the color pink or her perfume or being touched at all, least of all being touched or hugged or anything by her); that evening I watched the filled Mayo jar fly by me, missing me by golly-knows-what; choosing dissociation in the closet instead of listening to the litany of Megan’s-fucked-up-as-a-daughter-because.

You know what’s also the same fucking story? (I know, a wanna-be-nun just said the F word. Pick your jaw off the floor, ‘cuz she’s heard and said so much more worse in the past). Getting harassed and bullied at work by your supervisor. I’m taking the fall because I told my supervisor’s boss that she made comments which I considered to be inappropriate. About the 3rd week of September I received information from a client’s caregiver about A/V hallucinations, and my supervisor in the course of consulting with another supervisor, stated “Oh, is this your wife?” My roommate (a co-worker) and her supervisor were in the room. As it was out of context, inappropriate, and I’m generally reserved, I didn’t say a damn thing at the moment.  However I did email my supervisor’s supervisor about her statements, explaining that I felt they were:

Hi [Supervisor’s Supervisor],

I want to make a complaint about a statement [Name redacted to protect the not-so-innocent] made to me yesterday in front of another employee & supervisor. We had gone to the back of the [Location] office to consult with [Roommate’s supervisor] about a cx [client] of mine. To this other employee (who is my roommate, [name removed]) and in front of her supervisor, [my supervisor] said, “Oh, is this your wife?”  I corrected it immediately as “No, she’s my roommate.”
Myself and my roommate felt it was inappropriate; I’m embarrassed.
I’m making a complaint as this is not the first time [the not-so-innocent] has made inappropriate comments about faith/personal issues to me; I’ve addressed them with her in the past and thought it was taken care of. I can talk more about those  with you’d like.
I write that I’m taking the fall because I’m the one getting pegged for distinct deadlines prior to the company’s established deadlines for monthly paperwork; my supervision time is being double-booked two weeks in a row and my supervisor says “oh, I messed up…no I didn’t”; she hangs up on me, she conveniently “never” receives my text messages (I can prove this via phone company) ; she gives me the clients that she’s having assigned to her (I can also prove this), which she needs to be credentialed in an evidence-based practice (one of our primary sources of funding); she does not listen to me pertaining to being able to either submit notes on-time, or completing paperwork to her superficial deadlines but not both (I have multiple witnesses). I’ll be harassed, picked on and bullied until my body collapses or she finds someone else to bully.
Yet, there’s another side to silence, where I can find peace instead of noise, calm instead of jarring harassment; can breathe without needing to calm my pinched and firing nerve[s]. For me this kind of silence is filled with incense, Gregorian Chant and sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows. Usually, I’ve just beginning to grasp this kind of silence at the end of the Mass of the Catechumens. Currently, I take a single line from the Anima Christi “Hide me in Your wounds” because it’s the only place that has been once-struck and never struck again. That blow is finished for all time, and He is righteous and reigns again. I can hide wherever I want to, but I crawl into the lance-blow, and imagine Momma Mary holds the body of her Son one last moment as in the Pieta and clasps her hand over me, not only keeping me hidden but I cannot fall out either. I sleep with a Crucifix clutched in my hands because it’s the only way I can sleep through the night without waking up every 2 hours. One of these days I’ll walk behind the closed doors of a monastery which St. Therese of the Child Jesus frequently called a prisoner; however it’s the first time I won’t be imprisoned. I’ll be able to openly declare/be myself without fear of reprimand. Nothing should slow my mother down on reprimanding me about how I’ll cause the doom-and-gloom on her marriage and am an utter disgrace more than a 7 hour drive to San Francisco. I hope I laugh when I should be silent.
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Heat

Its a steady 90° at night here. The mousies are sleeping until I put their water bottle in the fridge. My pinchy-pinched nerve acts up at this hot, breezeless hour. Nature’s on a humidity kick to boot, making all bedsheets useless, including the flipside of a pillow. And I feel like i’m being watched.

image

This orange fuzzy blob waits for me all day.

By the by, I have a phone call with a convent tomorrow, long-distance. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Now if only I could sleep…but fuzzies are running on rattly wheels, nibble on crunchy bits, and sniffle at the heat. Oh, and roomie’s cat like to play hide-n-seek under my bed. Nothing like leaping out of bed at meowing to help me sleep.

Family

Can be attricious.

The situation: My roomate made plans beginning of May to move out and did so this past Sunday. I’m swinging rent in excess of $1500 by myself for August. I’ve found a place to share with coworker for total $1265. That’s a savings of $150/month for me.

My dad offered financial assistance last week. I held off & he retracted it Sunday morning. Then he had buyers remorse, and called me today. He wants me to stay at current place, which I csnnot afford with my student debt & car loans. I can’t afford to eat at this point.

His thought is that I submitted paperwork to Sallie Mae to adjust my loans & is counting my chickens before they hatch. Yet SM hasn’t responded yet.

If you withdraw support, don’t you think the horse will stop pulling the cart, and kick you? Especially when you tease the horse?

The Problem with Roommates

I used to be friends with my current roommate: go out clubbing, dinners together, drunk shopping, etc. We were good enough friends to think that moving into an apartment would be okay. I’m sure you’re shaking your heads by now!

I think the charm lasted about a month: she came home at reasonable times, her boyfriend came by but kept it decent, she washed and put away her dishes. Then she began to stay away more evenings than she slept in her own bed, would not take out the trash or even replace the bag.

She used me for therapy on more than one occasion, until I switched it up on her – I don’t work with adults for a reason: all therapeutic suggestions I made were based on what I would do at work (i.e. collages, art, symbolism, playdoh) and she stopped asking. I told her that she needs to find her own therapist; she complained about the cost until I pointed out to her that she can find someone covered by her plan, which was met with more hemming and hawing. As of last month she was having arguments with her boyfriend, shouting about how she’s not using him as her therapist. I turned on the white noise machine after that.

You’ve heard the story of the chunky mold in the soda can, right? Well, you have if you’re an in-the-flesh friend or coworker. I cleaned the den, kitchen, my bathroom from floor to ceiling; while I was sorting the recycleables, a can from her room felt like it was full of liquid, so I tried to dump it in the sink…chunky green mold.

We had a talk about many things after that weekend: she needs to tell me about the electricity and internet bills (her response, why didn’t you bring this up before? Doll, it’s your bill, therefore your responsibility) . Or taking out the trash – which she still doesn’t do. Airing out her room ….nope hasn’t worked on that either. She wants to move out on her own – but she’s never been on her own even when she has her own place; instead spends a lot of time with whoever’s her boyfriend at the moment.

Leaves me in a pickle since I can’t afford this place on my own, unless I eat Ramen every day. She says she won’t leave me stranded, but seriously? I’ve heard “I’ll clean” and “I’ll air it out” &c.  She suddenly wants to help me and list the place on Craigslist. But when we moved in here, she dragged her feet and couldn’t get the last place cleaned (whoops?) without requesting an additional week. I don’t have those kinds of funds – to pay rent on one place as I move my stuff out and put a deposit on a new one.

What’s it take to find a clean and respectful roommate?