August 5th, 2012
|06:34 am - F A I L U R E|
That's what I am and have become, a humongous, epic, walking failure. At work. In love. Every. Single. Aspect. of Life.
I have no choice now but to give up, or give in as the case may be, and concede to move back to Ohio to start my life over. A fresh beginning, that's what I need. At least I don't have the urge to take my own life anymore. That's gotta be some kind of sign of maturity, or growth, or...something.
All I want to do, all I feel like doing, the only thing I close my eyes and picture myself doing with any semblance of a sense of contentment, is play the piano. At first I would simply relearn all the songs I knew before. Then, I would add to my repetoire via new sheet music for songs that I'd like to know. Finally, perhaps I would begin to compose the thoughts on my mind and feelings in my soul.
Most of my sentences thusfar have begun with the letter 'A'. I wonder if that's a subconscious appeal to "Allah" for help? I've become far too enchanted with religious doctrines lately...
Anyhoo, I suppose I should use this time/space/opportunity to explore the reasons for my pessimistic conclusion at this epiphany? I really don't want to delve into the details for fear of confrontation with difficult emotions, but I am awake and deeply troubled, so maybe it would be (read: I know in fact that it definitely is) therapeutic for me. Alright, here it goes:
The most obvious recent negative occurrence in my life would be the sudden, tragic death of my client Kalyn R. (Ratcliff? Raycliff? I was never sure...) on Wednesday morning of August 1st. At first I was shocked. I mean completely, jaw-droppingly, couldn't believe it, never-even-considered-it-a-possibility-of-happening type shock. Then I was overwhelmed by thoughts and especially memories of her. Most prominent were what I now know to be my "last" memories of her -- the last thing she ever said to me ("Bye Princess"); the last time I ever saw her (running with Diah in the hallway, particularly when he "pinned" her in the corner and she artfully escaped by crawling between his legs); the last "new skill" she ever demonstrated (singing the song "Bingo" at Patricia's prompt: "B - I - N - G - O"...that girl was always singing something!). Finally, I just felt anger and frustration at the futility of all my work with her. It's nobody's fault, of course. No one could have seen this coming; thus no one could have anticipated -- let alone prevented -- it. And yet I feel...somewhat like a failure, I guess. All that planning for her improvement, all the effort and the patience each session, all the progress I had seen from her in just six short months, all wasted. All for naught. Now she's gone, and none of the successes matter. I realize that's probably selfish. After all, if that's my sentiment regarding the matter, just imagine how her parents must feel! Those poor, wonderful beings.
Compounding this particular problem for myself, however, are the other complications that I've been struggling with on the job. Next on the list would definitely have to be the difficulties with Danny, which begin and end, in my opinion, with his inexplicable detachment from me. Was I doing something wrong? Was I (the only one) doing something right? I feel like I've been hanging out on the sidelines, basically, for the last month or two, essentially keeping warm without really ever playing. Was the family going to stay with BAI Inc.? What was finally going to tip the scale one way or the other? It seemed like the only reason they were staying was because I was Danny's therapist, but -- Was that fair to Danny if he doesn't really care for me as his therapist?
(One saving grace, at least, with Danny is that I do feel like I have given him a solid foundation in ABA therapy. Even if, or when, I leave, he will be well-groomed and well-prepared for another therapist to step in and take over the process. If nothing else, I can be proud to say that. Or his parents might decide to forego the therapy altogether. While I wouldn't consider that wise, at least I could rest easy knowing that he is at least cured enough that they feel confident enough to go that route. And that would be thanks to my work with him. I do sincerely believe that, of any kid that I've ever known or worked with that had Autism, that Danny was the most likely to be "cured" in the sense that I truly believe it to be a realistic possibility with him.)
As it works out, my only other client at the moment, besides the two aforementioned, is a temporary case. It pre-determined before I even started working with him that soon I would no longer be working with him. Somehow that seems like a (serendipitous?) sign that I was not to remain at this center in my current capacity for much longer. As it stands, my only real obligation at this juncture after informing Danny's mom of my pending departure is/would be to consult Eliana the center Director about how/when to leave David's case. Would they need me to train a replacement?, or would I simply stay until their planned course of action transpires? "Easy Peezy Lemon Squeezy!" compared to all the other complications that have arisen.
It's interesting, the way everything has come together -- or fallen apart, kind of like the glass half-full/half-empty debate (Hey, I guess this has been therapeutic: I chose "come together" over "fallen apart"!) -- I get the image in my mind of a field, where each individual blade of grass represents some tragedy that has developed, and each blade of grass is bent fully over such that the blades converge in the shape of an arrow imprint, all pointing in one shared direction. Again, that seems like some serendipitous indication. Before it felt like all the blades were swirling wildly in a furious gust of wind hell-bent on tearing up each blade by the root!
Anyhow...I referred to Kalyn's death as "the most OBVIOUS recent negative occurrence in my life", though in fact it is not the most RECENT occurrence. No no, the most recent is my blunderous birthday celebration for Eddie. With each item I had some other inclination, yet decided to follow a different path despite active awareness that I was choosing poorly. The volume of Sherlock Holmes or Arabian Nights? Naturally I chose Arabian Nights for its asthetic appeal alone over Sherlock Holmes, whose content I knew he would prefer. I could try to blame it on him -- didn't he have, after all, a much more open mind when his ex gifted the Twilight series, or that random married chick from the bus recommended Hermann Hesse?! -- but deep down I know that's a pitiful excuse at a futile escape. Hell, I didn't even know for sure what the book was about well enough to pitch its worth to him, let alone justify it as a present except to say "I thought it was pretty and it would look good on your book shelf (that you don't have)." (Why do all my books end up stored in a closet when I'm in a relationship?)
Then there is the chocolate cake, which you would think would have been at least sufficient, if not a hit. But no, first in my search for chocolate cake I passed a package of chocolate glazed donuts. I even though, instantly, 'Oh he would love those!' Stupid stupid stupid. The card, I think, was a minor success; but if so, it was the only success, and even then only minor.
Honestly, I could dwell for a very long time about all the problems, great and small, between Eddie and me right now, but that is a vast topic best covered some other sleepless night in a separate essay-style journal entry. Besides, he summed it up best after his dejected thanks when he decided to retire to the floor of our bedroom. Upon asking him why he wouldn't come to bed, he responded: "I am alone. I feel like you don't know me at all."
And there was absolutely northing I could say to rebut that. I could have asserted that he was 100% correct and that it was true. But I decided that it wouldn't be helpful just then to admit it. Instead I opted to sit there in silence with him, patting his shoulder in the dark while contemplating all the obvious mistakes.
Certainly I can correct at least one "mistake" by returning Arabian Nights to exchange it for the complete works of Sherlock Holmes -- which I intend to do as soon as morning brings the opening hour of Barnes & Noble -- but that wouldn't fix the true problem that this eggregious error brings to light: we're just not meshing. For whatever reason(s), this relationship just is not working. Fortunately, for the first time, at least I feel like when we have "the talk" tomorrow where I say "it's just not working out" and "I think it would be in my best interest to move back to Ohio and start over", he will agree and accept it peacefully.
Now I just have to hope that my parents will be equally agreeable about y return to their nest for care. Only time will tell if that turns out to be the case...
Current Mood: crushed
Current Music: Silence