Danger, Danger, Will Robinson...

Now, this is an interesting topic. I am going to discuss how the mental illness from my family of origin impacted me later in life. I will do this through discussing my tolerance for somewhat dangerous situations in my work.  Now, keep in mind that I am aware that what I am talking about seems tame for others working in the most dangerous occupations.  Police officers, fire fighters, the military and even coal miners, have to deal with more danger in their jobs than I did. Obviously.  But I think it takes some interesting personal characteristics to choose to go into a job that has danger.  And honestly, I don’t think I have them.  So, the fact that I ended up doing what I did fascinates me.  Most of my jobs were pretty tame. But there were times that ‘interesting’ things happened.

 
In one alcohol and drug treatment center I worked at, I periodically worked on the adolescent unit.  Many of the kids had anger issues.  And I remember that I sat in a session one time with a psychiatrist and one of the kids.  The doctor had written in the chart that the youngster had an anger disorder.  And so, I was a little mystified because he seemed to be trying to make the kid angry. And angry the kid got.  He put his fist right through the wall.  Almost directly over my head.  I was thrilled that I was short at that point. He missed me! Now, that incident didn’t make me feel like I was odd.  Plenty of people worked at this center.  And there was acknowledgment that there was some ‘danger’. We were taught how to ‘take down’ the patients in an appropriate manner.  But I have never been a person who felt comfortable with physical conflict. As a matter of fact, I think I have a larger than the usual fear of it.

 
When I was a child living at home, there were times that Mom and Dad fought so hard that it got physical.  Not often, but it did occur.  One time, they managed to almost pull down our china cabinet. It was a LARGE piece of furniture.  And contained lots of dishes and glassware.  Amazingly, I don’t think much was lost. But the important fact in this situation was that I called the police.  I don’t actually remember whether they came.  But I remember going to my Mom’s bedroom and calling them.  I was obviously terrified. Then what I remember happening is that one of them got hurt.  Not very seriously.  I can’t remember which one. And then the physical part was over.

 
I don’t remember ever fighting back, even when the children bullying me at school began to get a little physical. I have to admit it didn’t happen often.  I am struggling to remember when it did happen.  And I only remember one time very clearly. I certainly didn’t hit this person back. The ONLY person I was willing to fight with was my sister.  We regularly fought.  But I don’t think those fights lasted very long.  Someone usually stopped them. 

To be continued...