Walter

For those who were wondering, the dog in the photo is my Walter. I adopted him from a dog rescue agency. Walter had been hit by a automobile as a puppy, and lost his left front leg. He is a wonderful dog for my family, but not hugely social with outsiders.

Therapy, Day 1

As I stood at the desk signing in, I felt such a rush of emotion. It has difficult not to leave. The failure that I felt, and feel, at not being able to deal with my depression can be consuming, so that I don't think of anything else. It is hard to keep the focus on wellness when I have been mired in this for so long.

I don't know that someone who has not battled with depression can fully understand how it can take over one's life. It is always there, a gray shroud that veils all aspects of me and everything I do. It is in my head, making it feel heavy and hurt. The constant throb in my temples. The aches of my body that feel always as if I am either just getting over or just coming down with a flu like bug.

I digress. Standing at the counter again, these few years later than last, make me feel as though I am a small child, at the teachers desk, asking for help with something that I should already know how to do. As the staff ask the perfunctory questions, I hang my head, and talk, I realize later, in a small voice. I just want this part ot be over with. After completing some paperwork, a staff member sits with me to discuss the intake process. They call the program partial hospitalization.

After that process is concluded, I am directed the first of many classrooms, or groups. It is these where, with direction of staff, I hope to work out the demons that keep me from the feelings that "those on the other side" feel. I am guessing those are happiness and a meaning for life -- neither of which I feel now. I am just existing, sucking up time and space. I attend classes on self esteem and enjoyment. One doesn't choose what classes you go to, the staff chooses for you. There was some grumbling among the other attendees that they had been involuntarily switched out of relaxation. I am checking my list; I don't want to go to that class, and am thrilled to find that it isn't circled. I am pulled out a session to talk to the nurse. She takes my temperature and blood pressure, making a comment about how they get the all of the older things, and apologizing for the thermometer. I didn't understand her comment that "the big house gets all of the newest equipment and rightly so."
Does that mean that a patient at Anthony House is any less deserving? I don't think that is what she meant, but it is obvious that some of the people in the system feel that we are. It is the oldest and least updated building on a multi-million dollar health care facility campus. Perhaps it is because society typically turns a cold shoulder to those things it doesn't fully understand. The nurse was nice enough, taking time to explain and to listen. For the first time in a while, it feels good to have someone really listen to me, knowing fully that her only agenda is to make me well. She encourages me to do things that I have given up on, and we make a deal that I will get out to go for a walk. "It will help you, and you will feel so much better." For some reason, I trust her and agree. We finish and she sends me off to the next session.


Somewhere along the line, I am asked what was my best day and what was my worst day. I couldn't tell them. I am so mired down in the now -- I can't remember a best day, and so many, many seem to be the worst. Another patient says, "I have a hard time accepting anything positive {about myself}. I feel that if people could only see what I see, if they could just look inside my head, they wouldn't say those things." Heads around the room bob in agreement. At the end of the day, I have to create a goal, I get to go last because I am the newbie. I copy someone else's because I can't think of a goal at that point. I am on overload. However, being able to reflect back over the day makes me realize that I want to get to a point where I feel as though I am not just being. I am hopeful.

Mel's Mind, Friday

The sign at the front of the building says Anthony House. Of the health care setting it is on, this is one of the ugliest buildings on the property. It is obviously several generations older than the others. I think it is supposed to be a cream color, but it looks as though someone took great lumps of charcoal and wiped down the sides of the building, creating dark streaks that start at the roof line and cascade down the outer walls. Someone has planted bright flowers at the entrance -- lipstick on a pig.

Sucking in my breath, I walk up to the door and give it a yank. I am reminded of another time I have been here. I pull the inner door open and am met with the dank smell of old carpet and even older building. It doesn't smell like a hospital, it smells old. The carpet is dingy, in need of a change. Walking down the hall, I glance up at the sign that confirms the mental health outpatient clinic is still in the same place as it was three years ago. The sign confirms that it is, and in a weird sort of way, confirms that I am still in the same place also.

I pull open yet another set of doors, and drag myself up to the desk. I am greeted by Tammy. I remembered her from the other time that I was at this same desk. She is still as bright and cheery as I remembered -- I hated her at that moment. Her happiness irritated me. Everyone on staff was kind and cheerful. A drag for me at that moment in time. It took everything I had not to turn tail and bolt out of there, but I didn't. I have made it a mission this time to stick it out. After 25 years of fighting, I am going to win the battle.

My battle, of course, is depression -- mental illness, if you will. As I struggle to be the best mom that I can for my children, and help them with their battles, I am waging my own war. I am tiring of fighting, and, therefore, have to win this time.

On Mel's mind

Just a quick note. I watched the presidential debate last night (along with millions of others). Am I the only one that was bothered when McCain said that Palin would understand the issues of autism? I have my own children with disabilities, as anyone who follows the blog knows. In addition I am certified in cross-categorial special education. I am here to tell you that autism and Down Syndrome are not the same disability.

McCain has once again shown his ignorance of issues. Lumping disabilities together infuriates me. Inferring the education of persons with differing learning disabilities can be taught on the same level infuriates me. If you are a McCain supporter, please educate yourself more. I think you might change your mind.

Obama: The Change We Need

When making your decision about who to vote for in the presidential elections, please consider these things:

Barack Obama will start to bring troops home from Iraq while John McCain endorsed the surge.

Barack Obama will work for working America by challenging Republican (McCain) policies of the corporate tax breaks for the wealthiest 1% in America. Obama wants to give tax cuts to us, the working families of America, and wantes to eliminate taxes for our senior citizens making under $50,ooo per year.

Barack Obama wants to pass massive health care reform. He wants to put the needs of the American family first -- like my family and yours. Please consider voting for Barack Obama.

To learn more about the policies of Barack Obama, click the title to this article. It is a link to his web site.

My Patrick

This was taken in my classroom. It is one of my favorite pictures of Patrick. He was playing, and asked me to take a picture of him excaping out the window. I like the picture for several reason: I love the play of light and dark. Technically, I think it is a good shot. Also though, it reminds me of how, as a person with Bi-Polar, Patrick often feels that need to escape.

My Jacob

On this day, Jacob and I were taking pictures of each other taking pictures! We have a lot of fun together.

Jacob is so many things, the least of which is a child with Autism, but that sometimes can be his greatest challenge. We have worked hard on looking someone in the face when you talk to them. For a lot of children with Autism spectrum disorders, looking at someone's face when talking to them is overstimulating. The reason it is important for a child with Autism to learn this, is because many people think that you are being inattentive if you are not looking at them when you talk to them. Think back to your parents. Did they ever tell you, "Look at me when I am talking to you." Mine sure did, and I have caught myself saying the same thing to my children. We want to be assured that the child is listening.


For Jacob, not only does he look at your face when you are talking, but often he will meet and hold your gaze. It is amazing when you realize that this is something he had to learn. Think the next time you are talking with someone, especially if they appear to be not focusing on you. It may be all they can to to simply listen.

Warrior Mothers

My son was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome quite some time ago. For those who don't know, it falls under the high end of the Autism Spectrum. As a mom, it is difficult for me to be so gung ho about the disabilities of my children.


Take, for example, warrior Mom, Jenny McCarthy. She has faught for her children, wrote a book about it, and is even opening a school for other children like hers. I admire her. I just don't know where she gets all of that energy to build a whole world for her child.


I do try, I talk to other professionals about diagnosis and labeling. I talk to them about education and try to do what it is best. I have professional help for both of my boys. I read a lot of literature about it. I even obtained educational certification for special education in order for me to better understand the challenges that we, as a family were facing in that arena. But I am a far cry from a Jenny McCarthy. She, to me, is a true super-mom. I don't know if I can have aspirations that high.


I have been told by some very wise people that you work with what you know, and as long as you feel you are doing your best, then you are. I try to agree with that sometimes, but the bar is set so high. If anyone has insight into either Asperger's or Bi-Polar, please share with me. I am always open to new experiences and knowledge.

Mel's mind this morning

On my mind lately is my son with bi-polar disorder. This illness pulls him in all directions. He has been fighting since the beginning of this school year just to go to school on a daily basis. He is having such a hard time. This is the beginning of a story that I started writing while I was waiting for him at the counselor's office. It is partially based what I saw while waiting in that office.

The weather outside is humid and muggy. It feels as though someone covered me with a thin film of goo, that bead up like the sweat of a marathon runner. Going inside is no help; they have turned the air conditioning off due to the cold front that was here. Stupid technicians – or whoever is in charge of the climate control of the building. Don’t they know that in St. Louis the weather seldom stays the same for more than a couple of days, if that?

Hot and now irritated, I walk with my oldest child into the building and to the elevator. “I’m going to take the stairs, OK Mom? Mom, OK? Mom did you hear me?”
“Yes Arthur,” I replied, sighing heavily, “ I heard you. Go on, I am going to take the elevator. My hip is hurting me today. I really don’t want to risk aggravating it on the stairs.” As tired and old as I felt on that day, my thoughts ran amuck, “God, how I wish that somehow I could step out of my life and into another. Heck, I’d just settle for stepping out altogether. I think that I just wasn’t cut out to be a mom. You make your own bed, and then lie in it. That is what Dad always said. Man, am I ever lying in it now.“

Once upstairs, we meet up again. Arthur is waiting for me at the elevator. Of course be beat me. Looking over at him, I thought back to the sweet baby that he had been. Now he was just a sullen young man; someone that she struggled to understand, but didn’t. He was tall, like my dad and my brothers. I wonder when he got to be so much taller than me? Oooohhhh, slipped out an another breathy sigh as if sighing was going to make me feel better somehow.
Recently, I found myself drifting more and more into a world of my own, one where things didn’t have quite the same affect, and my shoulders didn’t feel as if someone was always pushing them down. It felt better to be in that world, and I spent so much time there that it was affecting my ability to do my job, and now it was beginning to affect how I took care of my son.

Arthur tromped into the outer office waiting after his mom. He didn’t know what was going on with her lately. She had just stopped going to work one day. He thought it was because the kids at her school mean to her; she had talked about how they were disrespectful – yelling and cursing. She had been kicked, and hit. But now he wasn’t so sure that is why she quit working. He wanted so much to take care of her, but she still treated him like a baby. Shit – a lot of the kids that he went to school with were practically raising themselves. He didn’t know why she could or wouldn’t see that. He was way more mature – he didn’t have the sassy mouth that many of his friends did. He did like to curse, but not around his mom. He respected her too much for that, besides, she would pop him in the mouth if she heard him. Arthur knew he was a good kid, and he didn’t understand why his mom didn’t see that. She thought he was being secretive and hiding stuff from her, when in reality, he was just trying to protect her. Some of his friends were into drugs, just pot and crack, but he stayed away from that stuff. He didn’t want his mind messed up any more than his bi-polar messed with it already. He didn’t talk to his mom about that though, she would so freak on him. And he didn’t tell her about the fights that went on in the back stairs either. His mom used to teach little kids, so she thought the best thing was always telling. Arthur knew better. Being a snitch would get you bumped up, or worse. So he didn’t talk to her about that either. Come to think of it, he didn’t talk to her about much. He seemed to irritate her all of the time. His mom was pretty damn quick with the back of her hand, so he just left her to herself much of the time. He didn’t mean to stress her out more, which it felt to him like he did on a regular basis. Sometimes, he just wanted to be a kid. Like the one waiting in the office right now, proactically drooling over those dumb-ass Thomas the Tank Engine pieces and that train station that had bridges and tunnels and all of that other cool stuff to look at. He couldn’t play with any of it though, because it would be a major blow to his coolness if anyone important, like maybe a cute girl, would walk in and see him playing with a baby toy. So he just sat there. Staring that the reds and greens and browns and blacks of the train cars, wishing that he was making the go through those tunnels and over the bridges.

Pretending to read one of the magazines, I watched Arthur over the top of it. Man, if I could just climb insider his head for a moment. I was dead-on certain that a lot of his friends were up to no good, and so afraid that Arthur was going to get mixed in with the bad crowd. All I wanted was for him to talk to me, but he wouldn’t. Heaven knows that I tried to be a good mom. I made him work for a lot of the things that he got, ‘cause I didn’t want no sissy-boy that got everything handed to him. And I followed the only rule of child rearing that I knew – spare the rod and spoil the child. I made damn sure Arthur wasn’t spoiled.

The door to the inner sanctum opened, “Arthur.” His counselor was calling him. He hopped up and almost ran to Dr. Roberts. He was one of the few people that Arthur could talk to, really talk to. He told Dr. Roberts everything. He could talk to him about his mom, about the death of his brother and dad, about the kids at school. Sometimes they didn’t talk about anything – Dr. Roberts would just play games with him like Sorry when Arthur didn’t feel like talking. Actually, most of the time, depending on how he felt, he ended up talking to Dr. Roberts anyway, even those times that he made his mind up before going in that he wasn’t going to say anything about what was bothering him. Thing was, there was always something bothering Arthur. Even if it was just the injustices of society, there was always something bothering him. Arthur thought it was his bi-polar that made him feel that way, but Dr. Roberts said that all people felt that way at one time or another. It is just that most people have someone to talk to, and ways to work things out. That is what was part of what was different about Arthur. He really didn’t have anyone to talk to other than Dr. Roberts – and he always had trouble working things out. As long as he could remember, he would keep things in side until they just came screaming out. Things were either really good or terrible. There just wasn’t much of an in between.

Today they need to come screaming out to Dr. Roberts.

VOTE CHANGE!

I believe that it is a responsibility to vote. I have felt that way since I was 18. I also believe that one should self-educate as much as possible in order to make informed decisions regarding elections.

In the upcoming presidential elections, it is my belief that the best person for the job is Barack Obama. His views on the war in Iraq and education closely mirror my own. I agree with many of his proposed policies, and vehemently disagree with many of those proposed by John McCain. That said, whether or not you agree with me, please, if you are a registered voter in the US, vote. You have the power to change the political front of this country.

Vote Change!

Vote Obama!

In the Mind of Mel

I have stepped up to the plate. I have so much to say and so little time. Cliche, you say, but so true. I am 45 years old, and have put off so many things that I wanted to do, wanted to become, and now is the time. I am stepping out behind the curtain of -- what is it -- perhaps uncertainty, fear, that has kept me hidden from what I am -- a writer. I have danced around it, teaching English, journalism, free lancing for others, but I need to choose it as my partner. My husband of 15 years (next month) and my 12 year old son have encouraged me.

I am currently under contract to the St. Louis public school system where I have been teaching journalism. However, I am taking a long term leave of absence. It is a leap of faith that I am doing the right thing, at the right time. It is scary and exhilarating at the same time.

In my blog, you will find random musings, links to other postings (my own as well as things I think are really important, and some things that are just plain cool. I am excited to begin this journey.