The One About COVID

OK, look. I was locked out of my account for months. I don’t know why, but here we go…

It’s real. I don’t care what your weird ass pastor says. I give two shits about your opinion.

Sit your motherfucking ass at home.

Get stupid with your masks. Wear all of them at once. Just fucking WEAR them.

People are DYING. Are you resisting the death rate or contributing to it?

Am I bored? Am I stalking and researching anything and everything online? Am I trying to find the energy and motivation to work out? Am I gaining weight instead?

Damn straight.

You dicks that won’t follow CDC guidelines are keeping me at home. You’re contributing to my boredom and weight gain. This makes me rage. When I rage I bake. Fuckers, you’re going to kill me over here.

DO you want me to have to go to the VA? Fuck you then. If I can come home from the shit, then you assholes cannot kill me at home.

Also – trim your beard.

TLDR; Shut up and wear your mask. Anything else is a fucking stupid bullshit excuse for a selfish piece of shit. That ain’t a Rook Mistake

The one About The Need to be Seen

I’ve just been coasting again. For months I’ve had my head down and shutting out the world with stupid ass games on my phone or Netflix binges to the point that when I’m out of lives or finish a series, I am lost. I’ve disconnected from everyone. Haven’t been out of the house for social interaction since the end of January. I do work, groceries, and then hide in the house. I am so fucking sick of it.

Hooray for fucking PTSD driven depression and anxiety, bitches!

I love my friends. I would move the goddamn moon from orbit for these people of mine. But I won’t follow a text stream or pay attention to Messenger because my head is stuck in nonreality at this time.

Today is the 9th anniversary of marrying my amazing sigoth, but due to some real world complications and issues, we decided not to celebrate. But friends, my packbrother and his gorgeous mate knocked on our door unannounced this morning. They brought a box, sealed with a green duck tape smiley face, full of mini pies (Pi Day) a new board game based on Choose Your Adventure Books, and a ridiculous pink flouf wearing glittery gold glasses that I love.

I had no idea I needed something or someone to just see me, to check on me. To acknowledge my hiding.

They said hi, dropped off the box, and left. They had no expectation of my time or anything. I am just struck by the awesomeness of it all.

TL;DR- Get/Be friends that check on others when they go AWOL for too long. Anything less is a Rook Mistake

But friends, my packbrother and his gorgeous mate knocked on our door unannounced this morning.

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The One About Opening Up

So, I’m a fake extrovert. According to all the personality tests, I’m equal parts extro and intro. This month is a full on test of those results. I’ve co-paneled HORROR 101 and spoken on an actual stage in front of people I didn’t even know for PTSD: Triggers &Lies. Next weekend is reserved for Sirens packing and the utter meltdown I’ll have when I can’t fit my metaphorical banjo into the literal suitcase.

The PTSD talk gave me the feels. It wasn’t just me typing to an invisible audience who might or may not even exist. I could see them. They listened and asked questions. I felt “normal” while doing it.

After proving to myself that I can do this, I think I’d like to do it again and hit the character developing/writing angle a little harder.

If you have the chance to attend Writers in the Field next year, do it. It was a fantastic experience. If you were there, thanks for attending.

TL;DR: It’s a good day, but now I need endorphins and a nap. Opening up is part of the recovery process for me. Anything less would be a rook mistake.

The One About Trying Again: VA 2 Electric Boogaloo

Still haven’t seen a therapist. Still having paranoia and the sleeping habits are getting weird again. I’m not even tired until about 2 or 3 and by that time I’m mentally strung out and having almost waking dreams. It sucks. It also leaves me little energy to do things around the house or to write or – you know – take a shower. Yeah, I know when my hair starts getting greasy I’ve got a problem. As vain as I am about the silver fox moniker, I cannot bring myself to wash it. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Maybe that’ll happen before I try out the VA again.

Yeah, you heard me right. I’m going to the VA on Thursday to see if I can take it. I’m not sure if I’m testing myself or I’m honestly seeking help. Maybe I’m testing them. Whatever.

It’s like I forget how to people. I don’t want to be around anyone. When the sig-oth comes home, I fake it til I make it. I don’t want his company. But then I enjoy being around him. But all I really want is to be alone.

I mean, what can the VA do? Give me more medication? Take this feeling of defeat and that I am a fucked up waste of resources away? Sure. That’s why we read about all their success stories, right?

TLDR: I need to seek help again. To continue to pretend it’s not happening would be a Rook Mistake

The One About Finding a Therapist

I have a psychiatrist who recommended I see a therapist. She even gave me some people to call. This means I’ve been making it on meds and the home-spun wisdom I created. Today I went to a therapist.

It took about 45 minutes for a 15 minute consultation to see if she was a good fit. I should have saved myself the time when I saw the rah-rah feel good decor in the lobby. Yeah, I know positive in creates positive output for lots of people. However, when it looks like someone’s grandma got a free shopping spree at Mardel’s – I’m out.

Let me saw that I am not opposed to God or church, but I’d like for that to stay in a religious environment. I am not looking to God to fix my anxiety. I don’t want to kumbaya the pain away. I’m looking for therapy and a therapist that doesn’t ask me to pray with her.

TLDR: Check out the therapist before you go. Anything less is a Rook mistake.

The One About Sarcasm

Y’all June is almost here and you know what that means, right? An end to another School Shooter Season! Watch as the number of school shootings decline rapidly, tapering off to zero. Watch as those months become part of the statistical formula. Watch as SOMEONE tweets about how his administration has all but STOPPED that problem. Just wait for it. You know it’s coming.

How can we protest any louder? How long before they shoot someone you know, love, or care about? And I did notice that everyone in this pic is white. What does that say about our country and who’s “acceptable” to protest anything?

 

TL;DR: Sorry shooters, school’s out!

Another One About Shootings

OK, so fuck our kids. They’re going to die in a school shooting NOT because of guns, but because of a lack of God and poor mental heath treatment. OK.  That’s fine.  Sure.

But here’s what I want then:

Teacher salary = to 0-3 pay $5,000 monthly

Combat pay for teachers when the shooting happens at $250 a month extra

BONUS pay at $500,000 per child they keep alive during the shooting.

Mandatory psych evaluations for every student’s family members

Biweekly psych meetings with parents and students

Mandatory weekly home visits to make sure guns are being treated properly

Mandatory daily review of you and your family’s social media accounts for misogyny and racist comments,  suicidal or homicidal ideation, and a general overview of your feelings and mental strength.

Mandatory therapy for males between the age of 9-19 in order to undo the idea that they are entitled to another person.

Mandatory drug testing for parents and students

How do we pay for this? Ask the federal government. We can tax NRA members, fine those families who are remiss in these mandatory mental health checks, and start a separate school with one entrance, armed guards, and a sniper nest

Is this unrealistic? Is this a joke to you?

This is my reality. And if I’m going to die in a classroom, I need better pay and more say in who I teach. Do you have a kid with ADD? Do YOU have family with schitzo-effective disorder? Have you ever been divorced? Involved in a custody dispute? Ever written anything hateful about a group of people?  Then your kids can’t come to public school.

There, I fixed it.

 

So, how many?

 

 

The One About Acceptable Losses

Yeah, it’s the world we live in.

Yeah, you need to understand that safety is nothing but a fucking illusion and the glass doors of the cube farm won’t stop anyone that is a motivated shooter.

This isn’t hyperbole or an overreaction. It’s the goddamn truth.

I work in a school.

I have had a plan in place for the 14 years I’ve worked here. Every class that I’ve taught knows pieces of my plan. And I have always been very careful with my words for the kids’ sake and mine.

Yesterday I attended a school safety briefing. The language changed. It’s not IF it happens, it’s WHEN it happens. It’s having to say that there will be dead and injured no matter what you do. It’s explaining to PreK-2 teachers that hours of silence is not likely. There are legal business things that had to be said, but when asked away from the crowd, telling those teachers to break out the glass in the windows, toss kids out, and fucking RUN as the best option for them living through this without being acceptable losses.

It’s helping a teacher “bulletproof” her room as much as possible because there’s more of a chance of wall penetration than knocking down doors.

It’s telling teachers that they have 3 seconds to lockdown.

There’s explaining not to react to a fire drill on lockdown – even it’s a real fire.

There’s explaining not to open the door for ANYONE. ANYONE. Even if that means listening to their coworker, friend, or student crying in the hall.

It means teaching our kids where and how to hide. There are 740 of them and 80 of us.

There’s seeing the realization on civilian faces that this is a fucking reality and that kids and staff will DIE. That there will be acceptable losses.

It’s me puking in the restroom after.

This isn’t a case of people coming for your guns. This is what it’s like to prepare for those guns coming for our kids.

Fuck you and your AR-15 that is safer than kindergarteners.

TL;DR I am sick of kids dying.

 

 

The One About Students

I will not quote statistics. I will not rail against the NRA. I will not explain to the close-minded. It’s all been done and said before. And it does no good.

Instead. I will tell you what I do in my classroom.

• Answer 11 year olds’ questions about the shootings (every time)
• Explain my plan in case of an active shooter
• Practice my plan with 30 11 & 12 year olds
• Hold part of it back because I don’t know who they might tell.
• Explain that NO is an acceptable answer.
• Allow them to conclude that women, POC, nonbinary, and LGBTIA+  are people
• Discuss anti-violent solutions to problems
• Role play difficult social situations and discuss the various options
• TALK to them and KNOW them
• Be an adult worth trusting
• We read about mental illness & “differences” to normalize it
• We study world religions and their similarities

For the last 14 years I have taught kids to love one another and to save the world from itself.  My kids are out there. They’re still learning and now some of them are teaching their own kids.

 

The One About Seeing a Psychiatrist et al.

I have not been back to school since the Great Blood Pressure Incident of 11/29. The administrations’ thoughts and prayers were not well-received here because they came with 0 plan of action to help me or my students. I finally got in to see the psychiatrist today (by no fault of her own – this is a very busy time for mental health professionals) and was told that I do indeed have PTSD (duh).  Basically, what’d happened is that the therapy and self coping I’d developed decayed due to my work situation. (duh)

My issues:

• rituals
• hypervigilance
• rage attacks
• panic attacks
• generalized anxiety
• depression
• high blood pressure caused by these things
• night terrors
• insomnia

I’ve been placed on an antidepressant and will not be returning to work until the second semester. By then, these new meds will have kicked in and hopefully they’ll do the trick.  We will reevaluate the drug situation in 6 months to a year.

Best thing said to me so far, was when I left the ER two weeks ago and the nurse caught my attention on the way out. He said, “Hey, you’re not crazy. You’re not.”

I bawled. It hit me in the human side of me that’s still capable of emotion. 

TLDR: I am starting this journey again. Thanks for your kind words and concern.