Battle

Today I fought with a salmon. He was dead, thankfully, and hopefully not for too awful long; otherwise, Kroger owes me an explanation. Despite being thoroughly dead, he almost won. After buying a large piece of salmon on sale at the grocery store, I thought I was just going to pull the salmon out of the package, cut it into three pieces, and bag the portions individually to freeze. As it turns out, they leave the skin on fresh salmon; as it also turns out, God gifted salmon with scales and skin that are of the same ease to cut or pull apart as rubber. An epic battle ensued, between the skin of a dead fish and my stubborn will to finish the task. It took me a lot longer than the chefs on that episode of last season's Top Chef, but I figured if what's-his-face could skin an eel, I could wrestle the skin off this salmon. And I did. I also laughed my fool head off at the realization that, on a Sunday in August at lunchtime, I was in my apartment, alone, wrestling with a dead fish who appeared to be in the lead.

Over the past few years since I moved away to college, I have had to learn how to do many things on my own that I always took for granted. I have learned to light a pilot, grocery shop on a budget, navigate traffic across six lanes, get a discount on a pair of display shoes, open a bottle of wine, have cable set up at my apartment, and make homemade biscuits. It has only been in the last few months that I have completely changed my view of these lessons. For most of my life, I have chosen not to try things for fear that I won't do them perfectly; or, I have practiced them obsessively until near perfect before I congratulated myself on the task. Six months ago, I would have called someone to help me with the salmon, given up altogether, or just cried out of frustration through the entire experience. Somewhere along the way, I have learned one of my most important lessons in a school of life-- I have learned to give myself a break. I pulled off more of the salmon that I probably should have, and I made a huge mess while doing it. A few weeks ago, I learned how to open a bottle of wine; of course, I only accomplished this after twenty minutes that include breaking off the cork in the bottle and ending up on the floor with the bottle between my legs to have enough leverage to pry out half a cork. But I did it. I don't know how to be a good counselor yet, and I don't know how to live this far away from so many people I love. What I do know is that sometimes, I have to get out of my own head and just try. I'm going to screw it up, but I expect the screw up, and that expectation and the willingness to laugh at myself is enough to keep me going. This odd little adventure in a tiny apartment in north Atlanta is one of many I've embarked on; lately, I've just been bringing paper to take notes on.

Internship, commence

So, we'll see how far I get in actually writing in a blog on a regular basis. I am notorious for starting journals and other such places to keep thoughts and only writing in them three times. However, today I started my internship as a counselor. And I'm terrified. Often times the best therapy for the therapist is to process the day and then let it go; so, without divulging any information about where I work or those with whom I work, I will discuss me in my day today- besides, that's what really counts here anyway.

I am astounded by how much I have changed in just the past six months, and I know that six months ago, I would not be able to deal with this madness I have gotten myself into. My job is proving to be shockingly flexible, something I never would have expected from a psychiatric hospital. While I tend to enjoy these sorts of jobs, I'm concerned with the lack of guidance because I don't know what I'm doing. I'm doing good to learn how to get from one section of the hospital to another, but I have so many other serious concerns. I'm worried that I won't meet the criteria I need to for my program, and I'm concerned about how different I think my internship will be from a lot of other people in my program. I still don't understand 75% of the paperwork they showed me today, and I'm made speechless by the assertiveness, optimism, and sheer, well, balls of the intern with whom I'm paired. And I still don't know what the hell an ADL is. I do know, however, that they brew free coffee and provide Coffee Mate creamer in the cafeteria 24/7; attempting to do group work with someone who is actively hearing voices is about as useful as discussing feelings with a 5-year-old; and that somehow the staff manages to laugh and breathe despite the 214 people in inpatient care today alone. I also know that the one woman with whom I had close to one-on-one interaction today reminds me so much of myself; she shouldn't, as she is a patient and I'm a counselor, along with 15 other things that separate us. But I know what's it's like to swim in that sea, and I know how scary it is. I also know that sometimes it's all you can do to hang onto the life vest, and her strength in clinging to that vest is commendable. While I don't know how to do the 15,000 little things I'm expected to do, and I don't know exactly how I'm going to finagle this to work in my program and my life, I do know why I'm there. And today, that's enough.