I was told there wasa plan… promised, even. My Psychiatrist retired in December. She gave me a plan to deal with it, which included a few more appointments with my Psychotherapist, and six months of care through a Psychiatric Nurse. The Nurse would also act as a liaison between me and my Family Doctor and monitor my medications.
Working asa team, my Psych-Nurse, Psychotherapist, and Family Doctor would ensure that I had access to the system, so that I could be assigned a new Psychiatrist if and when I needed the care. It all sounded good to me.
It tookabout five weeks for the plan to completely fall apart.
First, myPsychotherapist and I got into a very bizarre, passive-aggressive argument over her interpretation of The Plan. Basically she feels The Plan wasn’t a Plan, it was just a very loose set of guidelines. Seeing another psychiatrist, she said, would be next to impossible. And even if I did somehow get back in the system, the wait to see another psychiatrist would be a long one.
Then my first and second appointments with the Psych-Nurse were cancelled. I was six-minutes late for the third scheduled appointment, and waited for her for another hour while the secretaries tried to track her down to no avail. I finally met her on the fourth appointment.
It didnot go well.
We satfor only a short five minutes, and she only asked me four brief questions:
1. Whatdid I learn from my Psychotherapist?
I answered:I learned a lot about my relationships with my family. Honestly, I was unprepared for questions. If anything, I was just expecting to talk about my pills and maybe something about her dealing with my Family Doctor.
2. Whatdid I learn from my Psychiatrist?
I wastotally unprepared for this one. I had to think hard to distill three or four years into a single thought, which I couldn’t do. I mumbled something about learning stuff about my medications and family and, like, you know, other stuff.
3. WasI having any side effects from the medications?
Finally, Ithought, something she can help with. I told her that, at the moment, I wasn’t having any major side effects.
4. WasI stable?
I shouldhave taken my time with this one, because it’s the worst question you can ask someone with a mental illness — we can be stable for a day, a week, a year, it can be totally random… you have to specify the time frame… but I was getting annoyed at the questions, and I was getting this huge “I don’t want to be here” vibe from her. So, instead I just blurted out “Yes”, thinking ‘this has been a good week’.
…that’s whenshe turned towards her computer, pushed a few buttons, and said “Well, you’re not having side effects, and you’re stable, so you won’t need me then. I’ll be closing your file.”.
I wasstunned. Looking back on it, I was actually in shock. I still am. Everything was coming apart, and now two of the people who were supposed to help me get back into the system, were actively pushing me out of it.
She gotup and opened the door, she must have seen how shocked I was because she put her hand on my back and told me “Trust yourself.”. On the short walk to the door to the reception area, she told me that three more times. “Just trust yourself”.
Based ona five-minute consultation she closes my file, whatever that’s supposed to mean, pats me on the back, and tells me I’m on my own..
I amnot fucking stable. Not like she means. Not enough to be on my own. But I didn’t speak up. So now it’s on me, I’m the one who used the wrong phrasing, I’m the one who gave her the opening. I’m the one who didn’t understand the consequences of being glib. I’m the one who now has to fight to get back in on my own. And I resent being put into this position.
I’ve calledmy Psychotherapist, and left a message demanding to be hooked up with another Psych-Nurse, but that was a few days ago and I haven’t heard anything back. I made the point that I was promised six months of care, and received only five minutes. Which, at this point, seems to be the only recourse I have — to rely on a technicality and on someone who doesn’t think I need any additional support, to get me more support.
I was thirteen when I firstheard Stuart Adamson and Big Country on the radio. At that point the only music I had been exposed to were the folk songs and anti-government protest songs we had sung in the Cult / Commune I grew up in, and a few records my mother had collected after we escaped.
After theescape, in the elementary school I ended up in, we had a music teacher who would encourage us to bring in albums to share with the class. That was my initiation into popular culture. I don’t remember the grade, but I do remember bringing in a copy of ‘Super Trouper’ by Abba I had bought for my mother… I was ten, and it was the first time I had been in a record store.
So thatwas it: ‘Solidarity Forever’; ‘We the Workers of Canada’; ‘Farewell to Nova Scotia’; some Steely Dan; ‘Band On The Run’, by Wings; Abba, and; whatever was on CBC Radio in the morning. That was pretty much it for the scope of my music awareness.
When Iwas thirteen, I was visiting with my Aunt — she also escaped the Cult I grew up in. She always had the radio on. I remember it was just the two of us in the house at the time. I think we were in her kitchen, and the DJ came on and said something to the effect of “…and here’s something new straight out of Scotland”. She turned to me and said, “…hey, you’re straight out of Scotland” and she turned up the volume.
…I rememberthat being so important. I had no real idea at the time of my History. I had no firm idea my father had been born in Scotland. That, from his side, I was a first generation Canadian. So her dropping that knowledge on me in that moment made me perk up and listen extra intently to the song.
The songwas “In A Big Country”, from their second album ‘The Crossing’, by ‘Big Country’. At the time they were a relatively new band out of Scotland, fronted by Stuart Adamson — who had played in the classic punk Scottish band, ‘The Skids’. I didn’t know that until much later, I had never picked up a music magazine before, so music history was beyond me.
I rememberthe first rolling drums, the strange sounding guitar — they used a special device on the lead guitar to make it sound like a bagpipe, then there were the lyrics… “Pull yourself up off the floor, come up screaming”, “Dreams stay with you, like a lover’s voice across the mountain side”, “Because it happened doesn’t mean you’ve been discarded”.
A fewmonths later I was in a tiny record store and found the cassette in it… actually, I’m not sure of the time frame on this. I might have bought their 1984 EP, “Wonderland”, first while on a class trip to Halifax. Regardless, by the time I was fourteen I had bought ‘The Crossing’, ‘Wonderland’, and their newest album, ‘Steeltown’.
…anyway, there’sa YouTube of Stuart and Big Country performing “In A Big Country” embedded below, if it doesn’t load, just click here and it’ll open in a new tab.
First the bad news: my psychiatristis officially retired, and my psychotherapist is on an extended leave while she cares for her recently cancer-diagnosed husband.
But I’mnot being abandoned, that’s the good news. In October I start a new relationship, this time with a Psychiatric Nurse. She’ll monitor my medications, and mediate my relationship with my Family Doctor… who really does not want to be my primary psychiatric caregiver.
I’m stillnot sure how long I’ll be without a Psychiatrist, I’ve been told the process to get back into the system is relatively simple… relative to what I won’t know until the process starts. I do know that the Psychiatric Nurse is only available to me for four months, so the process better be quick as well.
The wayit has been explained to me is that my Family Doctor has to make the recommendation… I’m not sure if there will be another evaluation, like the ‘standard LOCUS (Level of Care Utilization System)’ questions I had back in October of 2018 when my last Psychiatrist retired from dealing with non-geriatric clients.
I hopenot… it would be nice if the powers that be would just take my Family Doctor’s word on my condition, and not force me to advocate for myself. I’ve had to do that too many times, and I’m always worried that ‘this time’ will be the time they decide I’m not unwell enough to need the support.
But I’mtrusting in the process my Psychotherapist and my Psychiatrist have both left me with.
I startedseeing my current Psychiatrist in the late Spring of 2019, and she has been fantastic… I will definitely miss her. I still have two appointments on the books with my Psychotherapist, who has also been great, even if we spent too much time discussing my mother. But I’ve been told not to expect her back anytime soon.
Anyway… during our last sessionmy Psychiatrist and I mostly discussed how much fun I’ve been having this summer. Which surprised her. She told me that it was the first time I’d used that word, or any positive expression to describe anything mood-wise in the five years I’d been her patient — apparently I say “fine” a lot.
Since ourprevious session, back in the early spring, I’ve been taking photos of local Events for the local paper… they even gave me a stack of business cards with my name on them. Our community puts on a lot of Events during the year, so I’ve been out taking photos pretty much every weekend since May.
And ithas been fun… and I’ve been getting paid while doing it, so that also helps the fun-factor. But mostly it’s about getting outside and having a purpose in doing so.
…I’ve beena professional-amateur photographer in the past. I’m a reporter by trade, but most of my reporting jobs involved taking a lot of photos… I even got backstage at Lilith Fair and a Britney Spears show in Toronto, as well as a hundred or so Punk shows, and special Events like Airshows and corporate thingees. I’ve even been in the reporters section of Parliament Hill on more than a dozen occasions. And those times were among the best in my life.
The only other thing wediscussed for any length (other than the process to get a new Psychiatrist) was my use of the Trintellix… I’m not sure if there’s a causation or correlation to this, but ever since I started taking the drug seriously back in the Spring, I’ve been able to accomplish a lot. But maybe it’s just because there’s a lot going on, finally, now that the Covid is mostly under control… or, at least, now that we’re ignoring it.
I’m nowtaking 15mgs of Trintellix every morning… so, in addition to the Trintellix, my psychiatric medications are now 150mgs of Wellbutrin XL, 16mgs of Abilify, 50mgs of Seroquel at night, and 5mgs of Zoplicone when needed for sleep.
I’m sleepingbetter at night, but still having the same problems of sleeping too much during the day — I was in bed at 2am last night, and woke up at 1:45 this afternoon, for example. Slept right through. Although I’m pretty sure some of the sleeping I’m doing during the day has nothing to do with the medications or the bipolar crap. Some of it is just me avoiding being bored, or there’s just nothing interesting to do.
Thankfully Ihave something interesting and fun to do now… at least during the weekends.
I haven’twritten a lot about Andrew here. His mother and I started dating when he was four. We got married when he was seven. We separated when he was ten. It was very, very ugly. Now he’s 17-years old, just graduated high school, and sleeping in his car in the Walmart parking lot because he’s not welcome at either his mother’s house, or his father’s home.
When hewas young, Andrew was mentally and emotionally abused by his mother, my ex-wife, and horribly neglected by his biological father. When Andrew was five-years old, and his mother and I were still married, we’d drive him to his father’s for a pre-planned visit, only to find the house empty. On the way back, Andrew would be screaming in the backseat “why doesn’t my father love me?”. This happened once or twice a week. On the occasions that his father was around, he would put Andrew in front of the TV, in a dark room with some popcorn, then go into the basement to drink, smoke weed, and gamble online.
…except forfor hockey. His dad was very involved with Andrew’s hockey. Even becoming a coach for Andrew’s team.
On otheroccasions, Andrew would refuse to eat his supper. So his mother would put him into a timeout. When that didn’t work she’d start threatening him. Once, as he was sitting on the stairs, she (very seriously) threatened to pull him up and down the stairs by his hair. When I told her that wouldn’t be happening while I was around, she waited a couple of hours then get abusive with me. This was happening multiple times a month.
Andrew’s motherused to call Children’s Services on his father after almost every visit. CS would determine that neglect wasn’t enough of a reason to take Andrew away from his dad permanently. Eventually Children’s Services (that’s not what it’s called around here) decided to investigate every aspect of Andrew’s life — they interviewed his teachers, his principal, his father, his father’s girlfriend, me, and his mother.
Eventually, baseda lot on my testimony and some audio recordings I submitted, they determined that Andrew’s mother had been abusing him for years, that his mother had been heavily coaching him on what to say to CS, and it would be in Andrew’s best interest (and Victor and Quintin) to be removed from his mother’s care. Initially I thought I’d be taking all three boys with me but, according to CS, I had no right to take Andrew because his father was still in the picture. So Andrew went to live with his father and his father’s girlfriend, and Victor and Quintin came to live with me.
And thatwas that. There was no other plan for Andrew. CS demanded all three boys be taken out of the home, or they would be placed into foster care. So I left in the best way I could think of. When I left Andrew’s mother, I paid three months rent, and paid the bills for a month. I was homeless, absolutely broke, living with my parents, with two boys, ages of 1- and 5-years old. After near-weekly blowups with my own mother, the two boys and I were eventually placed into county-run Affordable Housing.
For severalyears afterwards, Andrew and I had contact, but it was irregular and brief. We always hugged, we always caught up. Four to five years after the separation, and the CS removing the kids from their mothers home, and putting her on a schedule of supervised visitations, CS decided their mother had followed all the rules, and had taken part in all the therapy practices. So we went to mediation over what visitations would look like. After a few hours of negotiations we went with week-to-week with Quintin and Victor.
I warnedthe CS that any attempt to put Andrew back into his mother’s life would result in things getting worse, not better. But my warnings were ignored. It took his parents months to work out a schedule, but Andrew was back with his mother on a week-to-week schedule. By this time Andrew was 14- or 15-years old. Over the time with his father, I had watched Andrew go from a physically active little kid, to a sedentary, extremely moody teenager. Thanks mostly to his father, his weight was out of control. I think by this time he was almost up to 250-260lbs.
…despite itall, Andrew was doing extremely well in school, and had a lot of lifelong friendships.
For thefirst year after the CS backed off, he was bouncing back and forth between his father and mother. He would stay with one for a few days until the yelling started, then stay with the other until the same happened. Eventually it started getting physical. Eight months after I warned the CS things would get worse, he got into a fist fight with his mother. His mother’s boyfriend had to restrain Andrew. The CS got involved again, the police were also involved.
…my owninvolvement was in anonymously calling the CS when I heard about the fight. Victor and Quintin were upstairs at their mother’s when it happened, but they could hear everything.
Andrew, hismother, and his father refused to take part in the therapy offered by both the CS and the police. At least not seriously. His mother went to a couple of parenting seminars, but his father was just too lazy to get involved. Andrew, at this point, knew that any talk of taking part in therapy was just a road to getting his mother’s abusive side to catch fire.
So allof it became a pattern. Andrew would stay with his dad while his mother calmed down. Even after the physical altercation, and after his mother banned him from her home, it took three weeks and Andrew was once again a welcome guest. After screaming matches with his father — and his now second wife, he would get kicked out for a week or two, stay with his mother, and then get forgiven.
The patternlasted for two years. Andrew would be happy with his mother or father for a week or two, then something would spark an argument and, none of the three having any coping skills whatsoever, the argument would get out of control to the point where the kid was told to leave.
Only nowAndrew’s father has separated from his wife, and he’s living with a friend. A friend who has no patience for arguments between father and son. Especially physical fights. So when Andrew and his father got into a fist fight two weeks, ago the police where called and seven of them showed up. And Andrew was forcibly removed from the house. The friend has made it very clear Andrew is not welcome back.
So offto his mother’s house Andrew went. Things were tense, but relatively peaceful. Until an incident where Andrew almost got arrested. He drove some friends to a drug store in a strip mall. While he waited in the car, his friends robbed the store of $750 worth of merchandise. It was mostly a grab & dash. Nobody was hurt, and there were no weapons or threats.
But therewere a lot of cameras. It took the police less than thirty minutes to find Andrew’s car, with his friends and the merchandise still in it. Andrew’s friends, to their credit, denied he had anything to do with it and Andrew was let off with a parental warning. His friends were threatened with a charge of ‘Theft Under $1,000’, which is a maximum of two-years and a permanent record. I’m not sure where that stands as of now.
So thetension between Andrew and his mother got worse. Andrew had recently picked up a new job cleaning a National Park, which paid a good wage and, I think, was unionized. A few days ago, while staying with his mom, he misplaced part of his uniform and he panicked. He had recently been accepted into one of Canada’s best Colleges, and he planned on using the money from the job to pay for his car. He started yelling. Within a few minutes things had gotten completely out of control between him and his mother. I don’t know how physical it got, but the police were called.
And Andrewhad to be removed from his mother’s house. Several times during the incident, he threatened to kill himself. His mother, and the police, both — to their credit — offered to call the Crisis Line. But Andrew, programmed by now not to accept therapy from anyone, declined. He told the police that he would sleep in his car at the local Community Centre. The police told him if they caught him there, they’d charge him with trespassing. So that’s how Andrew ended up in the Walmart parking lot.
I spoketo his mother a few hours after it happened. And she was devastated. But with no idea what to do next. His father’s reaction was to go to on a four-day trip to a ComiCon event with his new girlfriend where he, according to his Facebook posts, added to his collection of Transformers memorabilia.
So now,as far as I understand, Andrew is couch surfing. I don’t know if he still has a job. I know he has car payments to make, and College coming up — I have no idea if that’s even a possibility anymore. I know his mother doesn’t work full time, I have no idea if she’s on welfare or ODSP. I know she works ‘under-the-table’ to pay her part of the mortgage on the house her boyfriend bought. So, at least in terms of money, she’s no help for Andrew.
Andrew’s lastfight with his father was about money, and how his father — who sells cars for a living, couldn’t help him anymore.
I toldmy psychiatrist all of this, and asked her what my responsibility was. She told me the best thing I could do for him was to call the local Children’s Services (which also has programs for adults), and see what they can do for him. It was the local CS that helped me skip the waiting line for Affordable Housing, mostly because I was disabled, homeless, and living with my mother in an abusive situation. So they have programs to help the homeless. They also have a tonne of therapy options… which, of course, have been offered to Andrew in the past.
…the problemI have to work out is how to approach him. I can’t ask him to move in with me, there’s simply no room. There are also rules that I have to follow with the Affordable Housing and Disability People that preclude anyone else living here. I asked his mother if I should / could talk to Andrew, but she doesn’t want him to know she’s been talking about the situation. She also, of course, doesn’t want him going into therapy.
So Idon’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know what my responsibility is in any of this. I raised Andrew as if he were my own son for five years. I took him to his first NHL game. I took him to the water-park, we went bowling twice a month, I helped him with his homework, I got him dressed for school. I carried him on my back, I twirled him around by his arms until he was dizzy. I sang Happy Birthday to him. I introduced him to movies, and music that he still talks about today.
I heldhim while he cried about his father’s negligence, and took him for walks after his mother’s freak outs.
…I believe,there’s a chance his mother will take him back. At least I have a hunch. It’s the pattern. The Pattern has existed in his parents’ families for generations. His mother was physically abused by her father, and emotionally terrorized by her mother. His father was raised by two alcoholic parents. But nobody left. Everybody kept leaving and coming back… verbal apologies were never given, everything was reversed. The abused apologized. The abuser given the option of acceptance… the act of coming back was the apology, the act of receiving the abused back into the home was the acceptance.
But Idon’t know.
What atotal shit-show.
…I thinkI have to make the call, and see where it goes from there.
The overarching theme for mypast year in psychotherapy was my relationship with my mother… which seems not a little cliché, but it was something that needed to happen.
We onlydiscussed my mother for a few minutes this time. There just wasn’t much to talk about. She has been staying in her lane for the past few months, and leaving me alone. Which has been a nice change. We don’t have a lot of contact, just dinner once a week, and I do maintain a website for our local historical society, which she’s in charge of… but I can do that from home.
Instead mypsychotherapist and I talked about other things.
…like howmy oldest son, Victor, who turned 13-years old a few months ago, recently told me I was a lousy father.
I heardhim yelling at Quintin, his little brother. When I entered the room, Quintin was sitting on the end of the couch, looking up at Victor. Quintin looked confused and upset enough that he was getting ready to cry. Victor’s face was red with anger, and his hands were balled up into fists.
When Iasked what was going on — in a loud voice (but not yelling), Victor kept going on about how Quintin was playing online with one of Victor’s friends. .
Victor keptyelling, when I asked him to calm down and just explain to me what was going on, he told me I didn’t understand, and rushed upstairs, crying. As I was telling Quintin that everything was going to be alright, there was a huge crash. I ran upstairs to find Victor leaving Quintin’s room, still crying and angry, but now panicked as well…
There wasbroken glass all over Quintin’s floor, I asked Victor what had happened and he told me he bounced a ball and smashed the overhead light. He showed me his ring finger, and there was a little blood from a small cut. I was still confused as to what was going on, and got Victor a bandage. I asked again what was going on, and the anger flared back up.
Quintin, hesaid, was playing with one of Victor’s friends.
Then hedemanded to know if I was going to put him in a timeout. It was pretty much a challenge. I told him I still wasn’t sure what was going on, but because of the ball, him being in Quintin’s room, and the broken glass, I had no choice but to get him to sit in his room for five minutes and calm down.
He satdown on his bed, and yelled at me that “mommy is the better parent”, and that he didn’t want to be here anymore.
That’s whenhe started demanding to talk to his mother. He wanted her to come pick him up and take him to her place. After some back-and-forth, I finally made the call… I told her what had happened, and that I needed her support, and that I wanted Victor to remain with me so we could settle things. I told her I thought the main thing that was going on was Victor was acting like a 13-year old. He was upset about something small, and the puberty hormones were just driving it into something major. She agreed with me… then, when I gave the phone to Victor, the first thing she said was he could come to her place.
…so thatwas that. Except I drove Victor to his mom’s, after getting him to clean up all the broken glass. And that was the last I talked to him for the remaining three days of my week.
…during thattime I had to go into Victor’s room for some reason. That’s when I found the photo of the two of us, that had been beside his bed since we moved in here, in his garbage can.
On… Ithink, the following Monday, Victor showed up at my door after school (his mom stayed in the truck). He told me that “as my father” I should have made sure he was okay after the glass fell on his head, and that was why he was so upset with me. I told him I didn’t know the glass hit him. We said a few other things, I knew he was waiting for an apology but I honestly thought I didn’t owe him one.
I stillthink that way. As he was walking away, I told him I loved him, he told me he loved me. As he was getting into the truck, I asked if we were okay… he said he guessed so. And that was that. I spent the rest of his mother’s week second-guessing myself… should I have just apologized and got it over with? He called on the Sunday night, asking if he could stay with his mother for one more night, which I thought was a good sign… that he was asking permission, not that he was staying there. I agreed. Then I asked if I was picking him up from school on Tuesday, and he agreed it would be me.
My psychotherapistthought I did the right thing by waiting, and not apologizing… and that 13-years of age was going to be an adventure.
We also discussed a few otherthings. Like how I’ve fallen behind on cleaning my home. The dirty dishes are all over the counter; the laundry hasn’t been done in a few weeks; I have to move piles of crap from my chair to the dining table to sit down, and back again so the boys can have someplace to sit when they eat. She suggested I get some professional help just to get things under control. When I told her I have something like 300 DVDs scattered around the house, she thought a ‘decluttering’ might be in order. I agreed to both ideas… but haven’t started with either yet.
We alsotalked about my Book Project. We’ve discussed it before, and she’s a big fan of the idea. I told her I had been reading the interviews that I had done, and that there was some really good stuff in them. And that it was all still relevant. But there’s just too much stuff that I’ve lost over the past few years… including a crap-tonne of notebooks, photos, and magazines that my Ex threw out.
And thatwas about it. She also told me that it might be possible for her to see me for another four or five sessions before she has to stop. Which will be helpful… especially if we’re going to start talking about the other themes in my life.
"My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style." ~Maya Angelou