what the fuck happened to you? you used to be beautiful

I talked to sister last week. I told her I wasn't mad at her… wasn't disappointed. Just lost, which is why I hadn't talked to her sooner. She told me about her four days and three nights in jail… details I cared not to hear. Not because I wasn't concerned about her during that time, I simply found it difficult (and still do) to comprehend how things had reached that point.

Talked to mother last week, too. Our conversation was one of the more heartbreaking exchanges we have ever had. "If you're unsure about having children, I would tell you not to have them because you just don't know how they're going to turn out," she told me, sobbing. The remark was an obvious acknowledgement of sister's realities, and when I heard her say those words, that cautionary statement, I wasn't listening to my mother – I was hearing the words of a tired woman, someone else's mother who had smoked countless cigarettes pondering infinite what ifs. What did I say? What could I say? Now more than ever I, along with mother, father and stepfather, realize that sister's circumstance – her life, for that matter – will never dramatically improve. Sure, there might be incremental improvements, but such progresses are sure to be fleeting. And this is what mystifies me and mother. She, or her husband, has no desire to improve her situation; she is seemingly content with scraping by (barely) in a [winces] trailer park. Are my comments too harsh? Maybe heartless? What about you? Do you feel indebted to your parent or parents? Do you have some innate sense that compels you to better yourself, show yourself as a happy, independent adult? Does sister lack this drive? I don't know… maybe mother and I should focus less on our version of happiness and center on sister's definition thereof. (I think that's ridiculous, but I needed a spice of Pollyanna.)

Giving some serious thought to visiting my local hospital's behavioral health center tomorrow or Friday. Of course, I would prefer to arrange an appointment with a psychiatrist who has his or her own private practice, but my attempts to do so failed. (Technically I do have a psychiatrist with her own practice, but I don't feel she has my best interests at mind, which is why I'm going through the arduous process of finding another psychiatrist.) Of the nine doctors in my insurance network, three operate a private practice (none of which are currently accepting patients); the remainder work through one of the two local mental health clinics and only see patients who are referred through one of those centers. And a bureaucracy is born, which is why I detest said mental health centers. My encounter with Bloomington's Center for Behavioral Health (since renamed Centerstone) was not a pleasant one. In fact it was quite disturbing. I spent a day at Meadows Hospital… I've already blogged about this shit… Anyway, if there is one branch of hospital care that should revolve around one-on-one care it's mental health, and when you're dealing with a mental health clinic, or a behavioral health center as they are commonly referred to today, this invaluable one-on-one contact is lost within the bureaucratic machine. At this point I'm looking for a second opinion; I feel that my medication isn't working as well as it should… maybe there is something better, more adequate for my situation. I realize that a single pill or combination thereof won't be the remedy for all my problems, but, again, maybe something exists that can alleviate the crashes that I experience every three or four months.

I don't know… it's late… good night and

good luck.

xx