As I have thought about where I came from, I am finding my thoughts moving to what I became as a result of it. I spent many years working in social services. I worked in a variety of roles and many different types of programs. Not surprisingly, I ended up spending some time working with the chronically and severely mentally ill. First of all, I wasn’t scared by them. At a relatively young age, I had been required to talk with a mentally ill woman. It is something you don’t forget how to do. So, I used my skill and worked with the mentally ill in alcohol/drug treatment centers, and in inpatient hospitals and
outpatient clinics. And for one memorable period, I worked with them in a community based program. When I worked in this program, I visited a case load of clients out in the community. I brought them medication, attempted to encourage them to take the medicine as prescribed, and helped them with
housing and other issues. Because it was community based, this program really tested my skills. I went into all sorts of neighborhoods. During my work with this organization, I remember one time picking up a client very early in the morning. When I drove down one street, I was ’rushed’ by the drug dealers, because apparently people didn’t come out to that neighborhood early in the morning without wanting to buy drugs. That was truly an interesting experience for a middle-aged woman who had never even experimented with marijuana. I floored the gas pedal, and just got out of there. I ended up going back and picking up my client later in the morning, when it would be safer.
What was the point of this story? I learned at a young age to expect the unexpected. My Mother’s behavior wasn’t predictable. At least, not at first. After a while, we got used to expecting the ugly. She was angry and punitive. She called all of us names. Some were pretty vile. At the age of 8 years old, she started telling me I was a ‘slut’. I am pretty sure I didn’t even know what that meant. All I really knew was that it was bad. She seemed angry at my Dad all the time. And she kept telling me that she didn’t even like my sister. I noticed that she wasn’t bathing anymore, and her beautifully coiffed hair was becoming long, dirty and straggly. Thus began her slide into dysfunction...
To be continued......
outpatient clinics. And for one memorable period, I worked with them in a community based program. When I worked in this program, I visited a case load of clients out in the community. I brought them medication, attempted to encourage them to take the medicine as prescribed, and helped them with
housing and other issues. Because it was community based, this program really tested my skills. I went into all sorts of neighborhoods. During my work with this organization, I remember one time picking up a client very early in the morning. When I drove down one street, I was ’rushed’ by the drug dealers, because apparently people didn’t come out to that neighborhood early in the morning without wanting to buy drugs. That was truly an interesting experience for a middle-aged woman who had never even experimented with marijuana. I floored the gas pedal, and just got out of there. I ended up going back and picking up my client later in the morning, when it would be safer.
What was the point of this story? I learned at a young age to expect the unexpected. My Mother’s behavior wasn’t predictable. At least, not at first. After a while, we got used to expecting the ugly. She was angry and punitive. She called all of us names. Some were pretty vile. At the age of 8 years old, she started telling me I was a ‘slut’. I am pretty sure I didn’t even know what that meant. All I really knew was that it was bad. She seemed angry at my Dad all the time. And she kept telling me that she didn’t even like my sister. I noticed that she wasn’t bathing anymore, and her beautifully coiffed hair was becoming long, dirty and straggly. Thus began her slide into dysfunction...
To be continued......
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